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ABOVE AND BELOW 


OR, 


WHY THE BABY DIED. 


BV y 

REBECCA PERLEY REED. 

• I 




BOSTON : 

CONGREGATIONAL PUBLISHING SOCIETY, 
No. 13 CORNHILL. 


^Zn. 

Rasslts 

hi 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by the 
. Congregational Publishing Society, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 






Stereotyped by C, J. PETERS SON^ Boston, Mass. 


J'or Pg garlings, 

ANNIE, WILLIE, AND KITTY, 

THIS BOOK 

IS WRITTEN BY THEIR 


MOTHER. 







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^ ' ‘ • i *■ j 




PREFACE. 


The object of this little book has been, to render 
more actual to children, some truths of the Bible, con- 
cerning which their impressions are frequently vague. 
Primarily, I have endeavored to render heaven as actual 
to their belief as earth, and the existence of the de- 
parted as positive as their own. 

Naturally, with these thoughts have arisen, others 
respecting kindred truths, which, so far as my experi- 
ence of children is concerned, are frequently but shghtly 
touched upon in their religious instruction, if not alto- 
gether passed over. 

If I have made heaven any more real to any little 
heart, or “the body that shall be,” more conceivable to 
any tender mind, I shall rejoice; or if these thoughts 
of Christ, and “ the powers of the world to come,” can 
strengthen any of us to look more momentarily unto 
Jesus, — the “ Author and Finisher of our faith,” our 
only righteousness, Help, Deliverer, — I shall thank 
God. 


6 




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CONTENTS, 


Gone! 

CHAPTER I. 


PAGE. 

Thinking . 

CHAPTER n. 


. . 16 

Sympathy 

CHAPTER m. 



Self-Contkol 

CHAPTER rV. 



Charity . 

CHAPTER V. 



The Sea . 

CHAPTER VI. 



Sickness . . 

CHAPTER Vn. 



The Good Shepherd 

CHAPTER Vm. 

• ••••• 

• 

. . 68 

Stints 

CHAPTER IX. 



A Nice Time . 

CHAPTER X. 




7 


8 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER XI. 

PAGE. 

Christmas Plans 99 

CHAPTER Xn. 

The “Tree”. . 109 

CHAPTER xm. 

“ Hector 121 

CHAPTER XTV. 

‘‘Pilgrim’s Progress ” . . . 132 

CHAPTER XV. 

Resurrection 149 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Parable 164 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Disobedience 177 

CHAPTER XVm. 

Pictures in the Fire . 196 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Strife . . . • . . .206 

CHAPTER XX. 

Truth 225 

CHAPTER 3CXI. 

Good-by 245 



ABOVE AND BELOW; 

OB, 

WHY THE BABY DIED. 


CHAPTER I. 

GONE ! 

HE baby was dead ! 

How still the house was I 
Harry, Alice, and little JHay sat 
quietly in the sitting-room. 

Through the open door sounded the tick- 
ing of the dining-room clock, and pussy on 
the sofa purred away as she so often did ; but 
somehow it seemed to the children that she 
too knew the dear, sick baby was gone, for 



9 


10 ABOVE AND BELOW. 

her song was subdued, and she did not offer 
to have her usual game of romps with May. 

Presently mamma came in. Her face was 
pale, and her eyes seemed all ready to cry ; 
but she smiled, as she said, “ Do my little 
children want to come up stairs, to see Clem- 
mie’sbody?” • 

Yes : that was just what they had all been 
wanting to see. They had been talking 
about it by themselves, there in the sitting- 
room. 

So they all followed their mother, as she 
led the way up stairs, into the pleasant guest- 
chamber, where now stood the baby’s crib, 
and, on .the table near it, a vase of sweet 
white roses. 

Softly Mrs. Willis laid by the covering of 
the spotless little bed, and turned back the 
side of the crib, so that little May could see 
without standing on tiptoe. Then, taking 
^ her chair, she sat down close to the fair 


gone! 


11 


head which lay so motionless in its last 
sleep. 

A hush fell upon the little group. 

Death is a very solemn and impressive 
thing always ; and even when he clothes 
himself with the exquisite sweetness and 
beauty of babyhood, he whispers solemnly, 
“ I am Death! ” 

“ Isn’t it beautiful — this dear little body ? ” 
said mamma, after the children had for 
several minutes looked upon the still pres- 
ence. 

“ Our dear baby has gone, you know, chil- 
dren,” she continued. “ The real Clemmie 
is not here. This little body cannot feel or 
see or hear. What made him love us, and 
clasp his arms about our necks, has gone to 
God ; and this body will soon fade away from 
us, just as these roses will wither in a few 
days.” 

“But,” said the impetuous Harry, “I 


12 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


don’t see why God took him away from us. 
He has a plenty of babies up there in heaven, 
already, and we wanted ours ourselves, down 
here.” 

“ My dear little boy,” said the mother, — 
and her tears fell on the curls of the 
sleeper, — 

“ God never does anything that is not 
right. He loves our baby even more than 
we do ; and we shall know, sometime, why he 
took him from us.” 

“ 0 mamma ! ” sobbed the tender-hearted 
Alice, “ I shall pray to God to take us all at 
once, when he is ready for us. Wouldn’t it 
be nice to go together ? Then we shouldn’t 
any of us be left to feel so dreadfully.” 

“Yes, dear, it would indeed be very sweet 
to go together ; but our heavenly Father is a 
great deal wiser than we are. He knows 
what is best for us ; and I want you to re- 
member, that, if he loved us so much as to 


gone! 


13 


die for us, lie can’t be willing to give us any 
pain that is not necessary and best for us. 
Let us ask him to make us willing to lend 
our dear, precious baby to him.” 

And, kneeling down, the mother, in sorrow 
of heart, gave her whole flock into the keep- 
ing of the Shepherd of souls, and prayed for 
grace to teach them the lessons which their 
grief might compass. Then earnestly she 
asked for consolation and peace through the 
love of the Inflnite Comforter. 

As they all rose from their knees, three- 
year-old May turned to the vase of roses, and 
said, — -* 

“ One for baby ! ” Mrs. Willis took one 
of the half-opened buds, and gave it to the 
child, who half coyly approached the little 
crib, and laid her tribute on the waxen fingers 
of the baby, — itself not fairer than they. 

“F’ower for Clemmie,” she said, and 
turned to the open door. 


14 


ABOVE BELOW. 


“ Let us kiss him,” said mamma. 

And when all had looked again upon the 
perfect loveliness of the “earthly house,” 
they replaced his white coverlet, and softly 
going out, left him sleeping. 




CHAPTER II. 

THINKING. 

AY’S sweet eyes were fast shut in 
sleep. One rounded arm was 
thrown above her head, and her 
curls lay in a golden tangle over 
the pillow; while her sweet breath came 
regularly through her parted lips. 

Mamma had just gone from the children’s 
chamber. She had heard the evening 
prayers, and had knelt to ask God’s care of 
her precious flock during the silent night- 
watches. 

For the youngest darling, she had no anx- 



15 


16 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


iety. He was in the Lord ’s arms, and though 
her own ached with their emptiness, she felt, 
oh, so safe about him ! 

The good-night kiss had been given ; and 
her departing footfall had hardly died away. 
Alice slept with little May. Harry’s cot 
stood upon the other side of the chamber. 

This room of the children’s was a very 
pleasant one. Beautiful pictures, which they 
could understand and enjoy, hung upon the 
walls ; and all the furnishings of the apart- 
ment were fair and attractive. 

To-night the moonlight streamed in under 
the raised curtains, and bathed everything in 
light. 

There was a silence of a few moments, 
when Alice said, — 

“ Harry, are you awake ? ” 

“Yes,” was the answer: “I didn’t know 
you were, though.” 

“ I wish I knew just what Clemmie is do- 


THINKING. 


17 


ing,” said the sister. Do you suppose he is 
asleep now, up in heaven? Perhaps an angel 
takes care of him, and puts him to bed in a 
beautiful crib.” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder,” said Harry. And 
do you suppose he has any playthings ? You 
know he liked to have mamma set him on 
my rocking-horse, and hold him on strong, 
while he rocked away. Perhaps God has 
given him a splendid one now, all for his own, 
.that will go like, everything ^ 

‘‘ He didn’t care for dollies so much,” re- 
sponded Alice; “but I would give him my 
very prettiest, ‘ Eugenie Victoria,’ if he 
would only come back here again. I want 
to see my darling baby dreadfully.” 

“So do I,” said Harry. “I think God 
might spare him once in a while. It would 
be a good surprise if he would send him 
down sometimes to make a visit.” 

“ Do you suppose,” chimed in Alice, that 


2 


18 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


heaven is any higher up than the moon? 
That looks a great way off. It must have 
been a long journey for him to fly, when he 
was only a baby ; but I suppose Jesus carried 
him. Of course he couldn’t go himself, for 
he couldn’t but just stand alone when he 
died.” 

“ How do you suppose heaven looks, any 
way,” broke in Harry. 

“ I don’t know,” said Alice. 

“Well, I expect they have big chestnut- 
trees there, and you don’t have to shake ’em 
very hard, either, to make the nuts fall off 
like everything.” 

“ Oh, my ! I should like to be there, I 
guess.” 

“ I shall want to go there, so that I can 
see Clemmie,” said the little girl’s voice, 
which sounded half like a sob, “and we cer- 
tainly can when we die, if we try to please’ 
Jesus.” 


THINKING. 


19 


“ I know it,” said Harry ; “ and I mean to 
try hard, — very, very hard. If Clemmie 
could only come again, I would always be 
willing tb take care of him for mamma.” 

“ Oh, so would I ! ” echoed his sister. 
“ Isn’t the moonlight beautiful,” she added : 
“ it makes me think of God. I’m real 
sleepy. Good-night, Hallie.” 

“ Good-night,” was the response ; and 
soon both children had joined little May in 
dream-land. 




CHAPTER III. 


SYMPATHY. 



, T was a perfect June day. The roses 
outside the windows sent their fra- 


grant breath through the rooms with- 
in, and floated their incense above 
the sleeping form of little Clemment. Papa 
and mamma had said, “Let the casket be 
placed in the sitting-room where he has been 
with us so much. The children will then 
remember him to the last as one of them.” 

So, very tenderly, the white resting-place 
of the baby was placed against the pleasant 
bay-window, in whose light his dear little 


20 


SYMPATHY. 


21 


feet had just climbed to uprightness. Over 
his head, hung the blossoming canopy of an 
oleander, just now in full bloom, which, 
although it was summer, had been kept 
within doors, for its beauty. ^ Drooping 
wreaths of smilax encircled the sleeper ; and 
sweet-breathed flowers girded him with bloom 
and fragrance. 

As Mr. Willis stood looking at the fair 
dust, the words of a preacher, years before, at 
the funeral-service of a little child, returned 
to him, “ Oh, if this be the corruptible^ what 
must be the glory of the incorruptible ! ” 

In truth, it seemed too lovely a thing to 
give over to the “ clods of the valley,” too 
heart-breaking a trial,to miss so sweet a pres- 
ence from his group of children. 

Quietly came in the friends who would 
mourn with these mourners. The children 
watched them wonderingly as they passed 
into the long parlor. 


22 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


It was a strange experience to them. 
Their young hearts, awed by this great, mys- 
terious presence of Death, could not yet com- 
prehend its attendant circumstances. They 
looked silently at the dear baby, and knew 
that he had gone. His real self was not in 
the white casket ; but how could it be, that 
they should never again see his sunny face in- 
their pleasant home ? 

Little May, over whose sweet eyes no 
shadow of the great world’s sorrow had yet 
fallen, was wild with delight at the luxuri- 
ance of flowers in the house. 

Five-year-old Alice was quiet, subdued, 
and heart-broken, at the thought of putting 
away her precious baby. 

. And Harry’s seven years could not yet 
leave in God’s hands, their unreconciliation 
that he had taken- away from them little 
Clemmie. He was impulsive, generous, and 
whole-hearted ; and though he watched the 


SYMPATHY. 


gathering assembly curiously, his heart was 
sore and full of sorrow 

Presently, through the hush of the house, 
fell the words, “ Suffer the little children to 
come unto Me, and forbid them not.” 

Those old, old words spoken so long ago 
in the Judsean land, but just as applicable 
through all the ages, and in all the coun tries 
of the earth ! 

“ Dear Lord, help me to suffer him ! ” 
echoed the mother’s heart. 

Alice and Harry never will forget those 
words, or the prayer of the minister, or the 
soft words of the chant, “Thy Will be 
done.” 

Everything seemed very dream-like. They 
never knew anything like this before. 

Pretty soon, papa led mamma and the chil- 
dren to the white casket, to look again at the 
dust of the precious baby. 

“Are we going to put him in the 


24 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


ground ? ” whispered Alice. “ Oh, papa ! 
cmpbt we keep him ? ’’ 

“ Don’t carry him away,” broke in Harry, 
with a great sob. 

“ When we are in the carriage, children, I 
will tell you why we must lay his body away,” 
whispered their father in reply. ‘‘We shall 
take it,right with us.” 

“ Clemmie’s f ’owers — prettv f ’owers,” 
prattled little May. 

Soon the unconscious sleeper, baptized 
with the tears and kisses of so many who 
loved him, was taking the last journey of 
hmnanity, that journey from which there is 
no return. 

“ Harry,” said their father, after the car- 
riage had started toward Mt. Auburn, “ did 
you see, when we looked at little Clemmie 
to-day, how the dark shades under his eyes 
were wider and deeper,than they were yester- 
day ? ” 




SYMPATHY. 


25 


“ Yes, sir,” said Harry. 

“ And I don’t think his cheeks looked as 
plump as they did,” added Alice. 

“No,” said papa. “Now, in a few more 
days, our baby will change a great deal more ; 
and before long he will not look like our 
baby at all. His soul has gone ; and the 
body will fade away to dust, when there is 
no life in it. After a few months, we should 
never think that it had ever been a baby’s 
body. That is the reason why we must lay 
it away. Don’t you want to think of your 
little brother just as he used to be, rather 
than as he will be ? ” 

“Yes; but I wish we could keep him,” 
said Alice. 

A silence fell upon the inmates of the car- 
riage. 

How the mother’s heart was traversing the 
whole experience of the baby’s life of one 
year! How she clung to every memory! 


26 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


How jealously she grasped the casket which 
held all that was mortal, of her child ! How 
she coveted every moment that was leading 
her to his last resting-place ! 

In aching of heart she pray^ed silently, 
“O God! make us willing -that thy will 
should be done.” 

“Is this Mt. Auburn, papa?” said Harry, 
as the carriage entered the gateway of that 
sweet “city of the dead.” 

“Yes, dear,” was the reply, while the 
mother’s heart quivered at thought of the 
surrender so near at hand. 

“One more family born into the household 
of sorrow,” said Mr. Willis, as they slowly 
passed up the broad avenue. 

“ Why, papa, what a lot of stones I ” said 
Alice ; “ and a great many little ones, too,” 
she added, as inclosure after inclbsure was 
passed, and the white memorials of sorrow 
followed each other in thick ranks. 


SYMPATHY. 


2T 


, “Yes: a great many children’s graves,” 
said the mother. 

“ I suppose a good many babies are here,” 
said Alice. I never knew it before.” 

“ Do you suppose people felt just as bad 
as we do ? ” said Harry. 

“ Yes, my son.” 

“ But I don’t believe anybody’s baby was 
half as cunning as Clemmie,” said Alice. 

“ Oh, yes, Alice ! not as dear to us, but 
just as dear to the father and mother of the 
baby that died.” 

“Why, Harry, just count — one, two, 
three, little bits of stones, right in this one 
yard ! ” 

“ Seems to me, a great many.people die,” 
broke in Harry. 

“ The world is very full of sorrow. Let 
us remember that we are not the only af- 
flicted ones,” said papa. 

“ I am sorry,” said Alice. 


28 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“I wish God wouldn’t let people die,” 
added Harry. “ It isn’t nice, any way : I’d 
a great deal rather live.” 

“Yes, dear; but if we go to heaven, we 
shall think that,a great deal better than this 
world.” 

A sudden pause of the carriage, announced 
their arrival at their journey’s end. A pretty 
place it was, with beautiful shrubs and 
flowers and drooping trees, “wherein was 
a new-made grave.” 

The casket was so placed, that they could 
once more look upon the dear baby. Mam- 
ma unfolded a soft white blanket which he 
had worn “while he was yet with them,” 
and tucked it around him, for his last 
sleep. 

“ Good-by, my baby,” she whispered, 
“until the Resurrection.” 

The children gathered about, and left their 
last kisses with their little brother. 


SYMPATHY. 


29 


Then the sweet words fell upon the quiet 
air, — 

“‘In certain hope of a glorious resurrec- 
tion.’ ‘For all them who sleep in Jesus, 
shall God bring with him.’ ‘ Into thy 
hands, we commend this precious dust, O 
divine Saviour ! ’’ 

Then Mr. Willis stepped forward, closed 
and locked the white casket ; and they left 
him there under the swaying tree and the 
green sods, in safe keeping of God, “until 
He come.” 

As the carriage passed the little headstones 
again, Alice said, as the tears ran down her 
cheeks, — 

“ I am sorry for all the people who feel as 
sad as we do.” 

And thus early, were gathered the first 
fruits of their affliction. They had learned 
“ to weep with them that weep.” 



CHAPTER IV. 

SELF-CONTKOL. 

URING tlie beautiful summer morn- 
ings, before the heat of the noonday, 
Harry and Alice used to have merry 
times in the garden and grounds about 
their pleasant home. Rolling their hoops 
was a favorite pastime. The smooth, grav- 
elled walks were charming for this game; 
and many a merry chase did they have, try- 
ing a race round the garden, from the front- 
door back again. 

After the morning games, when the day 
had grown too warm to stay out of doors 

30 



SELF-CONTROL. 


31 


longer, the children came in ; and while little 
May took her midday nap, Harry and Allie 
had their lessons in the sitting-room with 
their mother. 

One morning the three little folks were 
enjoying their usual time in the garden. 
They were digging in the ground, Harry and 
Alice, each using a nice little hoe and rake 
combined, the gift of papa. Harry had a 
well in successful operation. It had reached 
already, a delightful depth; and he had just 
shouted to. his sister, — 

“ Al, see ! Al, isn’t my well a monstrous 
great one? It’s almost the biggest well 
I ever saw.” 

With his back turned to his achievement, 
and his face toward his older sister, the vic- 
torious smile just brightening his face, he did 
not hear the footsteps of little May, who ap- 
proached from behind with a small barrow, 
containing the accumulated result of several 


32 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


minutes’ labor on her own private score. 
With infinite pains she turned her small load 
of dirt into the beautifully-excavated hole ; 
and with a baby shout of joy at her complete 
success, exclaimed, — 

“ May, make well, too ! ” 

Harry turned short about, and in an in- 
stant “ took in the situation,” and the utter 
overthrow of his patient labors. It was too 
much. With a cry of wrath, he rushed 
toward the little culprit, and exclaiming, — 
“ You’re a naughty girl. May Willis,” pushed 
over the little thing, with all his force. The 
child fell heavily, her head hitting a sharp 
stone. 

For a second there was a perfect silence, 
and Harry’s consciousness of his deed swept 
over him. 

Had he killed her? Oh, how dreadful! 
Then Alice, with a scream of terror, rushed 
for her mother ; while the wrong-doer stood 


SELF-CONTEOL. 


33 


rooted to the earth, his eyes fixed upon his 
little sister. A faint cry came from May’s 
lips, and Harry rushed to her side, but hardly 
before his mother’s swift feet had gained the 
place, and her arms lifted the suffering child. 
She was conscious; but a trickle of blood 
showed where the stone had left a deep cut 
upon her temple. 

“ My precious darling ! ” said mamma. 
“ Is May hurt much ? ” 

“Hurt head — Harry pushed May,” said 
the little thing. 

“ O my son ! ” said mamma, “ how near you 
came to killing her ! If this stone had struck 
an inch or two lower on her temple, it might 
have sent our little treasure into eternity ! ” 

Harry’s heart was swelling with grief and 
remorse. 

What a dreadful boy he felt himself to be ! 
How near to being a murderer he had come ! 
He was almost as pale as little May, when 


3 


34 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


he followed his mother into the house, and 
watched her, as she bathed the poor head, and 
laid the child in little Clemment’s crib. She 
soon fell into a sweet sleep, and mamma said 
softly, — 

“Harry, how do you think your little 
brother would have felt, if he had looked 
down from heaven upon you, when you gave 
that fearful push to little May ? I think he 
must have been grieved, dreadfully grieved. 
Do you suppose he thinks you are getting 
ready to live with him, by and by, in heaven ? 
Angry spirits never enter that sweet country. 
Christ cannot have anybody with him, in his 
holy home, who is fierce and passionate and 
overbearing.” 

“ O mamma ! ” broke in the penitent boy, 
“I am very sorry. When I saw that she 
had spoiled my well, I didn’t think about 
anything, I was so mad; and I pushed her 
over right off! But I was sorry for it in a 


SELF-CONTKOL. 


35 


minute,” he added, “ just as soon as I had 
done it.” 

“ I think you had better go to your own 
chamber, and think about your sin,” said his 
mother, “and ask your heavenly Father to 
forgive you. You know you have often 
thought, if little Clemmie were here again, 
that you should be very patient with him, 
and bear with him, when he did things to try 
you. Now May is a very little girl, and you 
are old enough to remember that she does 
not always trouble and annoy you mean- 
ingly. The little thing saw you and Allie 
digging wells, and so she wanted to do the 
same thing too. She thought she was doing 
a very brave thing, when she pushed the bar- 
row of dirt up to your well, and tipped it in ; 
and don’t you think a great boy, seven whole 
years old, might have been patient, and ex- 
cused his little sister, even if she did make 
him a few minutes more trouble ? ” 


36 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“Yes, ma’am,” said Harry; and a boy 
looking very sorry and ashamed, turned, and 
went slowly away to his room. 

The next day, the children were again in 
the garden. Their father was walking with 
them. When he returned from the city the 
evening previous, the humble Harry had told 
him of May’s escape, and his own naughti- 
ness. Papa had talked long and seriously 
with the children about the fearful results of 
ungoverned anger; and they had gone to 
bed with the earnest prayer that God would 
keep them in the future from such an 
enemy.^ 

The June roses had faded; but the July 
lilies were queenly in their bloom, lifting 
their tall spikes laden with flowers, and mak- 
ing the air heavy with their perfume. Over 
one of their shining cups, Harry’s bright 
eyes discovered a gorgeous yellow butterfly, 
just poised, so near to the golden stamens, 


SELF-COKTEOL. 


37 


that it almost brushed their dust with its 
quivering wings. 

“I can catch it!” thought he; and with 
a spring, he stated in pursuit of the beautiful 
spoil. One step more, and his eager hand had 
dropped over it his straw hat, which he held 
uplifted for the purpose, when little May, also 
spying the bright creature, laughed out loud, 
and toddled forward, putting up her plump 
little hand just in time to startle the timid 
butterfly into further search for sweets, and 
leave poor Harry minus his coveted posses- 
sion. A flash quivered in Harry’s brown 
eyes, and the quick blood flushed his cheeks. 
His hand doubled itself into a fist; and, 
dropping his hat, he took one step toward 
the disappointed May, who was quietly walk- 
ing back from the lilies. Suddenly the boy 
stood still. A thought of his dead baby- 
brother came across the angry swelling in his 
throat, and the possibility of little May’s re- 


38 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


moval, through his instrumentality, the day 
before. His arm dropped ; and, running 
after the child, he kissed the wounded place 
on her head, and said, — 

“ Never mind. May ! bruvver will let her 
have the butterfly, if she can get it.” 

“Well done, Harry! said his father, who 
had been watching the whole proceeding, 
“ that was a victory ! ” 

The little man had learned another lesson 
of affliction ; for “ He that is slow to anger 
is better than the mighty, and he that ruleth 
his spirit, than he that taketh a city.” 




CHAPTER V. 



CHARITY. 

^3 ACK of the Willis garden, ran a nar- 
row, clear stream, which was com- 
monly called Willow Brook, from 
the thick fringe of willows which 
skirted its borders for a long distance ; and 
it was so shallow, that Harry and Alice were 
suffered occasionally to wade in its clear wa- 
ters. This was splendid sport. In the warm 
August days, their mother would frequently 
take her book down to the shady bank, and 
sit under the trees, while the children pulled 
off their shoes and stockings, and splashed in 
the water to their heart’s content. Even 


40 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


little May joined in tlie pastime, and paddled 
briskly with her rosy feet ; while the other 
children, each holding one of her hands, 
joined in her merry laugh when the clear 
drops showered her sunny head. 

Harry and Alice were picking up pebbles 
one morning, by the side of the brook, when 
suddenly Harry suggested that they should 
see whether they couldn’t dig through, and 
find China ! This was a bright thought, one 
that AUie’s less daring brain never had con- 
ceived ; but she was always ready to follow 
in Harry’s train of discovery ; and soon both 
children were started on a special expedition 
to the Celestial Empire. Two small chips 
were the implements of their tunnelling ; and 
never did discoverers start with fairer or 
more sanguine hope of success. Most pa- 
tiently they scooped away for several min- 
utes; but China still seemed very distant^ 
and Alice said, — 


CHAEITY. 


41 


“Hal, I don’t believe we can dig clear 
through.” 

“ Oh, poh ! ” was the response : “we have 
not dug long enough. Of course, it isn’t as 
near as that.” 

With which hopeful statement the coura- 
geous pioneer again applied his chip with 
fresh courage. The two holes in the sandy 
shore were growing quite sizable ; but, after 
a few moments more of unrewarded research, 
Allie threw down her chip in despair. 

“ There, Hallie,” said she, “ I can’t dig any 
more, I’ve come to a big stone, and I can’t 
get it up ; and I don’t believe China is down 
there.” 

The perspiration stood in drops on Harry’s 
face ; and, as he grew weary, a doubt as 
to his final success began to dawn. So 
after a few more subdued strokes at the 
forlorn hope, he joined his sister’s abandon- 
ment of the undertaking ; and the two dis- 


42 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


pirited little souls turned slowly toward tlie 
house. 

“ I mean to ask papa,” said Harry, “ why 
we can’t find China, if it’s right under us.” 

“And I shall ask him,” added Alice, 
“ what we should do, if China broke 
through.” 

Just here, a woman was seen going up 
the garden-walk, toward the back-door. She 
walked slowly, as if very tired ; and under 
her faded shawl she carried a large bundle. 
As the children came nearer, the woman 
stopped, and asked for their mother. Harry 
ran into the house, and rushed, after his usual 
fashion, to the sitting-room, where mamma 
sat, mending stockings. 

“Mamma, there’s a woman at the door 
wants to see you ; and she’s got a big bundle 
in her arms, and two or three baskets be- 
sides ! ” ' 

Harry’s words came in a great hurry, 


CHARITY. 


43 


tumbling over each other precipitately. 
Mrs. Willis went to the door; and the wo- 
man there waiting, said, — 

“Please, ma’am, will you buy a basket? 
My baby is heavy, and I’m tired, and want 
to sell one badly.” 

“So you have to carry this great child 
with you ? ” said the lady, as she looked com- 
passionately upon the worn face of the 
basket-woman. “ How old is it ? ” 

“ He’s a year old last June, ma’am, and a 
strong, fine fellow; but he drags me with 
his weight. As he’s my only one, I have 
to take him with me. My man is off with 
the baskets too, in another town.” 

The tears sprang to Mrs. Willis’s eyes; 
and she said gently, — 

“ Let me see the baby : I had one just his 
age.” 

The woman unfastened her shawl, and 
showed the plump, rosy child, fast asleep. 


44 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


He was stouter and darker than Clemmie 
used to be, but nevertheless he recalled all 
the sweet, gracious ways of the little angel ; 
and Mrs. Willis bade the woman come in to 
eat and rest. The children instinctively 
came up to look at the baby. He was such 
a reminder of the darling they loved so 
much. He woke up after a few minutes ; 
and his bright black eyes opened very wide 
with wonder at his new surroundings. As 
they stood watching him while his mother 
ate her dinner, mamma called the children 
into the sitting-room. 

“ Come up stairs with me a moment,” she 
said. 

When they had reached their mother’s 
chamber, she went to the bureau which held 
Clemment’s wardrobe, and opened one of its 
drawers. 

“Don’t you think our baby, if he could 
know about it, would like to have us give 


CHAUITY. 


45 


some of his comfortable clothes to that poor 
baby down stairs ? ” she said. 

“ O mother ! ” said Alice, “ don’t give 
away his dear little clothes.” 

“ No, mamma,” added Harry, “ I don’t be- 
lieve that baby needs any. I guess • he has 
got things enough.” 

“ I know these things of little Clemmie 
you love to Have close by,” answered 
mamma; “but that poor baby down stairs 
needs more garments than he has. His 
clothes are thin; and, when the weather is 
colder, they will not keep him comfortably 
warm. His mother is very poor, and has no 
money to buy him any more. Our dear baby 
has gone to be with God; and he doesn’t 
need any of these things. Don’t you think 
it would be selfish in us not to be willing to 
give a few of them away when they are 
needed so much ? ” 

The children were silent. Alice passed 


46 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


her hand caressingly over the soft folds of 
flannel and worsted ; and Harry at last broke 
the silence by the request, — 

“ Please, don’t give away his blue boots, 
mamma.” 

“No, Harry, I couldnH spdre these;” and 
the mother lifted the worn shoes, trodden 
down at the heels, and stubbed at the toes, 
the buttons half loosened, from the pressure 
of the plump little feet now quiet forever. 

Who shall be the last to speak of the elo- 
quence of a dead baby’s shoes? What an 
army of mothers could speak eloquently of 
myriad memories lying in every worn fold of 
their faded leather! This mother remem- 
bered how her baby had pulled patiently at 
one or two of the round buttons with his 
pink, fair fingers, until they hung, by a 
thread ; when his sweet gurgle of laughter 
rippled out in the gladness of his success. 
Her tears fell on the blue boots, which bore 


CHARITY. 


4T 


the exact impress of the dear feet ; but, in a 
moment, she wiped them, and said cheer- 
fully, - 

“ This pair we will give the poor baby 
down stairs. They were too large for Clem- 
mie, and, I think, will fit him. These little 
petticoats and sacks will keep him warm 
next Avinter ; and this merino will make him 
a nice dress. Are my little children willing 
to give these things away ? ” she added as she 
took them from the drawer. “Would you 
like to have your little brother know that 
you were unwilling to have any of his 
clothes given to a poor little baby that had 
very few ? ” 

“Well, I am willing to have you give 
them,” said Alice. “Aren’t you, Hallie ? ” 

“Yes,” responded the boy, ashamed of his 
withholding ; and both children followed 
their mamma to the dining-room, where the 
mother of the baby was made happy by such 


48 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


a provision for her child as had never before 
gladdened her eyes, and soon departed, leav- 
ing blessings upon the hospitable home and 
its inmates. 

“ I have a verse for you to learn,” said Mrs. 
Willis that evening at the tea-table, after the 
children had related to their father the epi- 
sode of the day. 

“ What is it, mamma ? ” said Alice. 

“‘It is more blessed to give than to re- 
ceive.’ ” 

“ I know why you want us to learn that 
verse,” said Harry. 

“ So do I,” added Alice ; and I am glad 
you gave away Clemmie’s clothes to-day.” 




CHAPTER VI. 



THE SEA. 

I^HE children were wild with delight. 
The last days of August had brought 
such overwhelming' heats, that Mr. 
Willis had proposed a flight to the 
seashore ; and the family were now luxuriat- 
ing in the bracing winds from the ocean. 

It was a new experience to the children. 
They bathed and waded, — one hour, gather- 
ing sea-mosses; another, building houses in 
the sand, or piling up fortifications with the 
round smooth pebbles, and playing battle. 
It really was almost like life in a jiew world. 


4 


49 


50 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


The great sea spread out before their young 
eyes, with its vast reaches of water, like some 
mystery of delight ; and they never wearied 
of its manifold phases. Especially did they 
delight in watching the in-coming of the tide. 
They would stand with bare feet while the 
surf broke over them, and gayly retreat, as 
the resistless waters asserted their claim to 
yet higher reaches of the smooth sand. 

One day the sly element “stole a march ” 
on Master Harry. He had been paddling 
about in most comfortable fashion, skipping 
stones, and piling up great heaps of sea-weed, 
to see them scattered by the in-coming wa- 
ters ; when, looking up, he discovered with 
dismay, that his boots were bound out to sea. 
He thought he had left them in a safe place, 
but had miscalculated the bounds of the 
water, which was taking tribute in this unex- 
pected fashion. 

“ O A1 ! ” he exclaimed, “ see my boots ! ” 


THE SEA. 


61 


and off he started, as fast as his stalwart 
young legs could carry him, to recover his 
lost possessions. But the tide was certainly 
before him. Just out of reach they were, 
^ even after he had gone as far as he dared. 

“Stop, Harry!” shouted- Mr. Willis, who, 
bathing a little farther down the beach, had 
seen the little boy’s rush, but not the occasion 
of it. 

“But my boots, papa I ” said poor Harry. 
“ Run and catch ’em, papa — quick I You’re 
so tall, I guess you can.” 

Papa saw the trouble at once, and with a 
few long strides succeeded in rescuing one 
boot ; but its mate was too far gone, and 
sailed off to outer ocean. The children 
looked rather blank ; but it was “ no use to 
cry over spilt milk.” So at last all the party 
concluded to laugh instead. 

“ Quite a craft, that, for some little ocean 
character, Harry,” said mamma. 


52 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ But it is rather an objection to the vessel 
for sea-service, that it is flat-bottomed,” said 
Mr. Willis. “I’m afraid it will capsize be- 
fore long.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ capsize,’ papa ? ” 
interrogated Alice. 

“ Why, tip over, my dear.” 

“Well, it will do for a house for some fish, 
any way,” said Harry, who was glad to find 
a use for his possession, since it must fall 
short of its legitimate one. 

A few days after this episode, the family 
gathered upon the beach about sunset, to see 
the wonderful light upon the calm waters. 
Behind them, the great sun was sinking: 
before them, the great ocean rose and fell, in 
burnished slopes of rose and emerald, and 
blue and purple, merging into dark indigo 
and black, as they neared the horizon. 

“ Let us sit on these big rocks a while,” 
said papa, “ and watch the surf. Children, 


THE SEA. 


53 


do you see the little lines of white foam, how 
the sun tips them with light ? ” 

“Yes, sir,” said Alice ; “ and there is one 
farther off that looks pink and kind of green 
too.” 

“ I should like to he a sailor,” said Harry, 
“ and climb up into the masts. It would be 
jolly. Then I should be Captain Willis, and 
the men would have to mind me ; and that 
would be fun.” 

“Not all sailors are captains, my son,” said 
papa. 

“I guess you’d be sea-sick, too,” said 
Alice. You were once, when we went in 
the boat to New York; and I was too.” 

“ Oh, that was when I was a little boy ! ” 
said Harry. 

Mamma smiled. “So you don’t think 
yourself a little boy now, my dear ? ” 

“ Why, I’m seven years old, ’most eight, 
if you call that little,” responded this aspirant 
for manhood. 


54 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


‘‘Well, growii-folks are sometimes pretty 
sea-sick, as well as little ones,” continued 
mamma. “ I think you are quite as happy 
on dry land, just at present. What a pretty 
group ! ” she added, in an undertone to her 
husband, as she pointed toward the chil- 
dren. 

Harry stood pointing to some white- 
winged vessels, whose full sails stood re- 
lieved strongly against the dark blue of the 
evening sky. His brown eyes were bright 
and eager, and his whole face was full of 
animation. Alice sat perched upon a big 
rock, near which her brother stood, her lap 
filled with pretty pebbles which she had 
been gathering, and her golden curls flying 
in the sea-breeze. Her blue eyes were 
thoughtfully fixed upon the vessels, while one 
hand was clasped in one of little May’s, who 
was begging her to^ome and paddle in the 
quiet sand-pools. May’s garb was a long, 


THE SEA. 


55 


full night-dress; and she looked like some 
baby pilgrim, just ready for journeyings, with 
bare, white feet, as yet unscathed by the 
rough ways of her travel. 

“ It only needs the baby to make the pic- 
ture complete,” continued the mother, after 
both parents had watched the children for a 
moment in silence. 

“How the dear little fellow would have 
enjoyed all this,” said Mr. Willis. 

“ Children,” he continued, raising his 
voice, “ do you want to say some texts about 
the sea? ” 

“ Why, papa, we don’t know any, do we ? ” 
said Harry. 

“ Let us see,” answered their father. 
“ Mamma may begin, if she will ; and I wull 
try to remember some.” 

“‘The sea is His, and He made it, and 
His hand formed the dry land,’ ” repeated 
Mrs. Willis. 


56 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ I didn’t know before that the Bible had 
verses about the sea,” interposed Alice. 

“A great many, my dear. Now let me 
think of one. King David was very fond of 
the ocean, and wrote of it. Somewhere in 
the Psalms, he says, ‘ Let the heavens re- 
joice, and let the earth be glad ; let the sea 
roar, and the fulness thereof.’ ” 

“ That’s queer,” interrupted Harry. “ I 
don’t believe the sea can roar. It isn’t alive, 
anyhow.” 

“Well, if it isn’t alive, it makes a great 
noise,” said Alice. 

“ Hark, children ! ” said mamma. 

The little group held their breaths, to lis- 
ten to the voice of the sea. 

Yes: they could hear it, — the ceaseless 
monotone of the breaking surf, forever surg- 
ing, dashing, on the sand. 

“Do you hear it, Harry ? ” said mamma. 

“ I hear a noise ; but I don’t think it is like 
a roar,” was the answer. 


THE SEA. 


67 


“We have not had a storm since we came 
here,” said Mr. Willis ; “ but when you have 
seen and heard the sea after a storm has been 
abroad, I think you will say that the noise 
of the waves is very much like a roar. But 
now for a few more verses.” 

“ ‘ He shall have dominion also from sea to 
sea, and from the river unto the ends of the 
earth.’ That means,” said mamma, “that one 
day God shall be loved and be obeyed, all 
over the world.” 

“‘When He gave to the sea His decree, 
that the waters should not pass His com- 
mandment,’ ” quoted Mr. Willis, as a heavy 
wave broke on the pebbles. 

“ What does that mean, papa? ” 

“ That this great and mighty ocean must 
never overpass the bounds of God’s placing, 
never covering the dry land. I can think 
of several more verses in the Old Testament 
about the sea ; but, when I proposed repeat- 


58 


ABOVE AND BELOW 


ing these texts, I was thinking particularly 
of those in the New Testament, wliich tell 
us that there is a sea in heaven.” 

“ Why, papa,” said Harry, “ do folks go to 
sea in heaven ? ” 

“ No,” answered papa, smiling : “ I think 
not. The ocean there is not like this one, 
I suppose ; for St. John tells us in his vision 
of the heavenly country, that ‘ there was no 
more sea.’ But, although it is unlike this 
earthly ocean, there is a wonderful sea there, 
nevertheless.” 

“ Has Clemmie seen it, papa? ” said Allie, 
thoughtfully. 

“Yes, my dear, I presume so.” 

“Do you suppose, papa, that it is as nice 
as this sea ? ” 

“ Vastly more glorious, Allie.” 

“Well, I guess Clemmie had rather be 
here with us than there, all alone, any way,” 
said Harry. 


THE SEA. 


59 


“I think not,” said mamma. “He is with 
Jesus, and he is holy. I wish we were all 
safely there,” she added, the tears springing 
to her eyes. 

“Papa,” said Allie, “please tell us about the 
sea in heaven. Does it look any like this ? ” 

Mr. Willis took from his pocket a little 
Testament, and, turning to the Revelation, 
read slowly, — 

“ ‘ And before the throne, there was a sea 
of glass, like unto crystal.’ ‘ And I saw as 
it were a sea of glass, mingled with fire ; 
and them that had gotten the victory over 
the beast, and over his image, and over his 
mark, and over the number of his name, 
stand on the sea of glass, having the harps 
of gold.’ ‘ And they sing the song of Moses, 
the servant of God, and the song of the 
Lamb, saying, Great and marvellous are thy , 
works. Lord God Almighty; just and true 
are thy ways, thou King of Saints.’ ” 


60 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ That is where our baby is, children,’’ said 
mamma. “ By the sea, with his harp in his 
hand, singing the song of the Lamb.” 

“ I think it is a queer sea if it is made of 
glass,” said practical Alice. 

“ That expression means, dear, that it is so 
clear and beautiful, that it looks like glass. 
W e cannot tell how grand and glorious that 
heavenly sea is ; but I hope we shall know, 
one day.” 

“ Now, when we look at this great ocean,” 
said Mr. Willis, “ let us remember that there 
is another sea yet more grand and beautiful, 
and pray, that we may one day join little 
Clemment in his song of praise. But it is 
growing very cool,” he added. “ I think we 
ought to go in. May is too thinly clad for 
this evening wind.” 

. So saying, he lifted the “little woman” 
upon his shoulder, and the party entered the 
house. 



CHAPTER VII. 



SICKNESS. 

j HE early days of autumn had come. 
September hung out a streamer of 
scarlet, here and there across the 
green of the woodlands, as a signal 
of her victories at the outposts of their 
camps ; and a hush brooded in the air, hazy 
with autumn mist. Alice sat in her mother’s 
chamber, by one of the pleasant windows, 
looking out into the garden, where the giad- 
ioles waved their gorgeous blooms along the 
walks. Since the return from the seashore, 
the little. girl had been sick for two weeks ; 


61 


62 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


and to-aay was sitting up for the first time. 
A light fever had weakened her, and had 
brought with' it an irritability uncommon to 
the child, and which a more severe disease 
might not have induced. Ordinarily, Alice 
was a very sweet-tempered, lovable little 
girl ; but new and unexpected events some- 
times develop in us all, emotions of which 
we never before thought ourselves capable. 
Just now the little invalid was rather unrea- 
sonable and exacting. She had been lament- 
ing bitterly that she could not go out to play 
with Harry. 

“ Mamma,” she urged, “ I am so well now, 
and it is so warm and pleasant, I don’t see 
why you can’t just let me go out and play on 
the piazza. I know I sha’n’t take cold.” 

“ Why, Alice,” said mamma, ‘‘ this is the 
very first day that, you have walked about 
the room. I don’t thmk it would be prudent 
for my little daughter to go out of doors : do 
you?” 


SICKNESS. 


63 


“Well, mamma; but I wish I could go. 
I’m tired of staying in this one only room, 
and Harry can go out all the time. I should 
think you might just let me, mamma.” 

“ Why, my dear little girl, what sort of 
unhappy spirit has possessed you? ” said her 
mother. “ Haven’t I done everything I could, 
to make your time pass pleasantly? Here 
are your numerous dollies, and your picture- 
books, and your dissected maps. Harry 
brings you flowers every day; and he and 
May come in very often to see you. I read 
to you ; and papa has carried you in his arms 
very often, to rest you. Now, haven’t we all 
tried to make you as comfortable as possible ? 
and don’t we all want you to go out of doors 
again, just as soon as it will be safe for you 
to do so ? ” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Allie, “only I’m very 
tired staying here so long.” 

“ I know, dear, it is hard ; but you don’t 


64 ABOVE AND BELOW. 

suffer any pain now, and I think you should 
try to be patient when you remember how 
fearfully many people suffer who have not 
half the comforts and pleasures you have. 
Think of that poor little child, of whom we 
read in the papers a few days ago, found dead 
from starvation and neglect, by the side of 
his drunken mother. What would you 
think, if you had such a lot as that ? ” 

Alice hung her head, and made no reply. 

“You know, darling,” her mother contin- 
ued, “ that we have grieved at your discom- 
fort through this short fever. You have 
suffered more from debility than from pain. 
This weariness is trying, I know ; but, if my 
little daughter would think hoAV good God 
has been to her, in sparing her life, and giv- 
ing her everything to make her happy, she 
would not complain any longer that • her 
mother does not want her to venture out of 
doors, and run the risk of further sickness.” 


SICKNESS. 


65 


After a little pause, while Allie twisted a 
rose-bud in her pale fingers, she looked up 
suddenly, and said, — 

“ Mamma, is everybody that is a Christian 
• i)atient always, in sickness ? ” 

‘‘ Not everybody, Allie. It is the effect 
of sickness and weariness, and indeed of all 
suffering, to make us restless and impatient ; 
and I think that God excuses us oftentimes 
for this, when he sees that we have a great 
deal to bear. But, very often, we do not try 
to control this feeling ; and the longer we in- 
dulge it, the stronger it grows. Have you 
tried to be happy and cheerful, instead of 
complaining at your confinement in the 
house ? ” 

“No, ma’am,” said the little girl ; for she 
was very truthful, and would not spare her 
reputation by telling a lie. 

“I never saw anybody very sick,” she 
add,ed, presently, “ except you, once or twice, 


5 


66 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


mamma, and little Clemmie. O mamma! I 
remember how patient he was. Poor little 
thing I how still he used to lie, and how he 
put up his little mouth to kiss you, when he 
was almost dying ! 

A shade of pain passed over the face of 
Mrs. Willis, and a pang pierced her heart. 
Oh, this grief of surrender ! it is never done 
with, in a mother’s heart. Some slight asso- 
ciation will waken it in sudden and fresh 
form, and, for a little, she will say in agony 
of spirit, “ O God, let this cup pass from 
me!” 

But in a moment the usual pleasant smile 
circled the mother’s lips, and she said, — 

“Yes, dear, our precious baby was very 
patient. It really seemed sometimes as if, 
though he was such a little creature, he tried 
to bear his suffering without complaint. 
Doesn’t it seem wonderful, that a baby 
should teach us, who are so much older, a 


SICKNESS. 


G7 


lesson of patience? When you are tried 
and impatient, just think* of Clemmie, who 
knows more about you, perhaps, than you 
think, and try to bear your trial, whatever it 
may be, meekly and quietly. Will you ? ” 

“ I’ll try, mamma,” said Allie ; “ and then, 
if I don’t succeed, will you excuse me, 
mamma ? ” 

“ We’ll see,” was the answer ; “ but don’t 
forget to ask God to help you.” 




CHAPTER VIII. 

THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 

LLIE was so much better that papa 
proposed a ride in the great carryall. 
He came home, early in the after- 
noon, from business ; and soon the 
three little folks, with their parents, had 
started from the front-door. 

“ Where shall we go ? ” said papa. 

“ Please go to Mt. Auburn,” said Allie. 
‘‘ We haven’t been for so long, and it’s such 
a pretty place. I want to see the baby’s 
stone too. You know, Harry and I haven’t 
been there since it was put up.” 

68 




THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 69 

“Oh, yes, do go!” said Harry; and the 
mother’s heart responded “Yes,” for she 
always turned to her baby’s turf-covered 
cradle with a mother’s, longing, as if there 
were, even now, something that she might do 
to render his last sleep more quiet and sweet. 

May was happy in any plan for the ride : 
so papa turned the pony’s head toward the 
west ; and he trotted briskly along the 
smooth road, so beautifully shaded by the 
tinted trees. 

“ How pretty those leaves are I ” said 
Alice, as a mass of wild woodbine caught 
her eye, hanging its scarlet and wine-colored 
leaves over the trunk and boughs of an elm- 
tree near .the road. 

“Splendid!” said Harry. “Papa, may I 
drive old ‘ Gray ’ ? ” 

“Yes,” said papa. Harry felt very grand 
when he held the reins. “ Can’t I have a 
horse when I am a big man, papa ? ” 


70 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ 1 think likely, my son.” 

“ But I guess I’d rather have a span,” pur- 
sued the boy; to whom the possibility of 
possession opened yet greater desires. “ And 
I’ll have a coach-dog too, a big one, 1 tell 
you. I will be driver, and Alice and May 
passengers.” 

“ Harry always wants to sit on the highest 
seat,” interposed one of the proposed passen- 
gers ; “ and when we play cars, he is the 
engineer, and he always wants to ring the 
bell, and call the names of all the places. I 
don’t think it is fair. Do you, mamma ? ” 

“No, I don’t,” ^aid mamma. “I think, 
too, I heard of a little boy the other day, 
who was playing ‘Bank’ with his sister. 
Let me see, what was Ms plan about the 
game? ” 

Harry didn’t seem disposed to talk about 
the matter much; so mamma asked Allie how 
it was. 


THE GOOD SHEPHEED. 


71 


“ Why,” said she, “ Harry said he would 
be the man to put the money into the bank ; 
and then he wanted to be the man to take it 
out^ too; so I couldn’t do anything at all. 
Then, when we played picnic, he said, I 
might come ; but if I did anything about the 
picnic, he wouldn’t play any longer.” 

“ What do you think of this boy?” said 
his father. 

Harry was silent. He knew that this state- 
ment was very true ; and he felt ashamed. 

“ O Harry, do try not- to be so dreadfully 
selfish ! ” said mamma. 

As they rode up the broad avenue of the 
silent city, a hush fell upon the inmates of 
the carriage. How still the place was ! The 
stillness of autumn was in the air. Here 
and there a leaf fluttered down upon the 
smooth walks or the even sward; and a 
sparrow hopped among the flowers. The 
■quiet little lakes lay motionless in the after- 


72 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


noon shade; and the white swans bent their 
stately necks in happy unconsciousness of 
the death all about them, in whose darkness 
their short lives must soon go out. 

Very soon, they reached their own lot. 
Papa fastened “ Gray ” to the post ; and all 
the party entered the pleasant inclosure. 
Little Clemmie’s memorial-stone, a simple 
cross of white marble, lay upon his grave. 
To one of its arms was attached a wreath of 
carved lilies. 

“ O mamma ! I think it’s lovely,” said 
Alice. “ Dear Clemmie, how he used to 
smile when he had a flower to look at ! Do 
you suppose he has flowers up in heaven ? ” 

“ ‘ The river of the water of life ; and the 
trees that bear their fruits every month,’ ” 
answered the mother, musingly. “Yes, 
Allie, I think there must be flowers there 
also.” 

“ Who takes care of the baby ? ” interposed 


THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 


73 


Harry suddenly. “ Seems to me, he was too 
small to go to heaven all alone.” 

“And he was too little to take care of 
himself after he got there,” added Alice. 

Mrs. Willis turned quickly towards the 
questioners. Truth to say, her own heart 
had held like questionings, though her lips 
had not voiced them. Sometimes in her 
dreams, she had thought herself walking 
through long passages and obscure corridors, 
bearing her baby, held closely against her 
mother heart, and had awaked to question 
for the instant, in the blind agony of her 
empty arms, “ Where is he ? and who cares 
for him ? Who shall minister to his needs 
in the unseen land whither he has gone? 
Does he not miss the watchful ministries of 
my love, even in heaven?” Such a ques- 
tioning even now rose in her heart. Be- 
fore she could quiet it, her husband an- 
swered, — 


74 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ The Lord, who gave himself to save our 
baby, loves him too much to leave him with- 
out most tender care in heaven. He loves 
children as tenderly there, as when he took 
them in his arms, and blessed them, when 
upon earth.” 

“He must have a great many babies to 
take care of,” suggested Alice. “ I don’t 
wonder he loves them, though. I think that 
babies are just the dearest, cunningest things 
in all the world.” 

The evening was coming on ; and papa 
said they must go. The mother cast back- 
ward a loving glance, as they left the little 
grave behind. She sighed to leave hhn 
there, all alone, so near his bedtime^ the 
darling ! Almost with the heart-ache, came 
into her mind the comforting words, “He 
shall gather the lambs with his arm, and 
carry them in his bosom ; ” and in a serene 
trust, she left her baby with the Lord. 


THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 


75 


The next morning Alice said, as she 
waked, “ O Hallie, I had such a beautiful 
dream last night ! I thought I saw Clemmie' 
over my head. He had on a sweet white 
dress ; and his hands were full of flowers. 




CHAPTER IX. 


STINTS. 

DO wish we didn’t have to have 
1^1 ‘ stints ’ ” said Allie, one morning as 
^ she started for her work-basket. 

“Mamma, won’t you excuse me 
to-day? I’m tired of making patchwork. I 
like to pick up stones, as Harry does, a great 
deal better.” 

“ How do you think it would seem, to see 
you in the garden, raking weeds and wheel- 
ing off stones, while Harry sat here hemming 
a handkerchief or stitching a dolly’s dress? 
Which seems the most suitable work for a 
little girl ? ” * 


76 


STINTS. 


77 


Allie couldn’t keep back a smile ; but she 
said, “Well, but mamma, Harry has such a 
nice time out in the garden; and I have to 
pick out all my long stitches, and prick my 
fingers very often.” 

Just here the door opened, and Harry’s 
round face appeared. 

“ Mamma, I’m tired picking up stones,” 
said he. “ Papa left an awful sight in that 
pile, and it’s dreadful hard work. I wish 
you’d let me harness ‘ Bose ’ into my barrow, 
and give May a ride.” 

Mamma’s face looked very full of amuse- 
ment. “Well, I do think I have a queer 
pair of chicks, sure enough,” she said. 
“ Just now, Allie was wishing that she could 
pick up stones' instead of sewing on her patch^ 
work ; and now here comes my little gardener, 
tired out so soon. What shall I do, children ? 
I’m so tired baking pies and cakes for you ; 
and I don’t see how I can cut any more 


78 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


clothes for Harry, because he will keep grow- 
ing so large, that it takes too long to make 
such large suits as his are.” 

“ But, mamma,” said the astonished boy, 
“ what shall I do ? I can’t go without 
clothes.” 

‘‘Well, what can I do?” said mamma. 
“ I’m tired. Allie must get on with her 
reading as well as she can, for I am tired of 
teaching her every day. I should like to see 
grandma: I haven’t visited her for a long 
time ; and, even then, I took you three chil- 
dren with me, so I had you to take care of 
all the time, and couldn’t have any good time 
all by myseK. Don’t you think I had better 
go, for a little while, and see if I can’t have 
a rest from my ‘ stint ’ ? ” 

The children stared at their mother in 
amazement. This was certainly an astonish- 
ing state of things: mamma never talked 
like this before. 


STINTS. 


79 


“ Why, what could we do, with nobody but 
Alice and me and Bridget to take care of 
May all day ? Papa don’t come home until 
supper-time.” 

“ I know it ; but why am I never to have 
a good time, even if you and Alice help me 
have it, by taking care of May ? I heard a 
little boy only a few minutes ago, complain- 
ing that he had too much to do, and wanted 
to leave his ‘ stint ’ unfinished ; and a little 
girl of my acquaintance thought it no matter 
at all, if there were some long stitches in her 
sewing, and no matter either if the patchwork 
itself was never finished. So / don’t see why 
T can’t stop doing my ‘ stint ’ just as well as 
they.” 

Mamma couldn’t keep her face straight a 
minute longer, possibly. She laughed right 
out. The children’s puzzled, amazed faces 
were too much for her. 

“Then, mamma, you were just joking 


80 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


after all,” said Harry. “ I thought you were 
a queer mamma ; I didn’t know what you 
meant all the time.” 

“Well, Harry, I was half in earnest too,” 
said Mrs. Willis ; “ for it is just as right for 
me to neglect my big work, as for you to 
leave your little ‘ stints ’ undone. Everybody 
ought to do something useful in the world. 
Nobody can be idle that serves God rightly, 
— not even in heaven.” 

“ Why, mamma, angels don’t work ! ” said 
Alice. 

“ Certainly, my dear : the Bible says they 
serve God day and night.” 

“I should think they would get awful* 
sleepy and tired sometimes,” said Harry. 
“Ido.” 

“ They are never tired or discouraged 
there,” said mamma ; and she thought of the 
sleeper in quiet Mt. Auburn. “ Clemment 
is learning to do God’s will,” she added pres- 


STINTS. 


81 


ently. “ The angels never weary. There is 
nothing in heaven to make them so ; no sick- 
ness, no sorrow, no sin. So they are always 
rested and strong and vigorous and happy.” 

“ I shouldn’t think a haby could do any- 
thing,” said Harry. 

“ But as he grows and develops, he will be 
all the time learning to do more. We cannot 
tell what God will have for him to do, be- 
cause he has not told us in the Bible ; but 
something delightful and useful, without 
doubt. But as to your ‘ stints ’ to-day, chil- 
dren, I will tell you what you may do. You 
may change work this time, and see how you 
like that.” 

“ Oh, good ! ” exclaimed Allie. 

Harry also agreed to the plan ; for he was 
“ tired of those old stones, and he guessed A1 
would be, before she got through.” 

The little girl thought not, and, running 
for her hat, was soon on the ground of her 


6 


82 


ABOVE AND BELOW 


labors, picking up stones vigorously, and 
throwing them into Harry’s wheelbarrow. 
Hal washed his dirty hands, and sat down by 
the window with the despised patchwork. 
With infinite labor, he pushed away with the 
needle for several minutes, and then carried 
his work to his mother for her approba- 
tion. 

“Well, my son, how do you get along?” 
she said, taking the “ square ” for investiga- 
tion. 

“ Real fast, mamma,” was the reply. “ I 
should get through right off, with my ‘stints,’ 
if I had such easy ones as Allie has, and not 
be so long sewing them as she is.” 

Mamma smiled ; for the stitches were pro- 
digious in length, and, like certain visits of 
which we read, “few and far between.” 

“Well, Hallie, this sewing is certainly as- 
tonishing,” she said. “ I think it wouldn’t 
take very long to finish the ‘stint’ with 


STINTS. 


83 


stitches like these. I guess my little boy will 
have to pick them out, and try again.” 

Harry’s face fell perceptibly. “ I don’t see 
why they ain’t good enough,” said he. “ I 
don’t think there is any need of taking such 
little bits of stitches.” 

“Well, my dear, I do,” said his mother. 
“I don’t believe Allie would think it fair to 
put such bastes by the side of her nice little 
stitches. Come, my son, the sooner you do 
it the better. You know this was a fair 
exchange of work; and you must do your 
part well.” 

The young hero returned, with drooping 
crest, to his seat by the window, and at- 
tacked the stitches. Pretty soon a very red 
little face pressed the glass on the outside ; 
and a weary voice said, — 

“ O mamma, I’m so tired ! I guess I’d 
rather do the patchwork. May I, mamma ? ” 
“ What do you think, Harry ? ” said Mrs. 
WiUis. 


84 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ I’d rather pick up the stones,” said the 
.subdued little man, on whose forehead the 
drops of perspiration witnessed his laborious 
efforts with the sewing. 

“Well, if you are agreed, you may each 
do your own work,” said mamma; and in 
five minutes, two exceedingly happy little 
people were contentedly executing their reg- 
ular “ stints.” 




CHAPTER X. 

A NICE TIME. 

CTOBER had come. The mellow 
noondays were shaded by the crisp 
frostiness of the mornings and even- 
ings, which lay white upon the fading 
grass. A few dahlias and late autumn-flow- 
ers still braved their persistent enemy, the 
frost, which, sooner or later, was sure of utter 
victory, and so could well afford to wait yet 
a little longer. 

In the woods, the great chestnut-trees were 
yielding to his repeated touch ; and the sharp 
crack of their brown clusters of burs came 



85 


86 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


clear, through the still air. It was the ful- 
ness of nutting-time. The cliildren were 
wild with desire for an expedition to the 
woods with this intent. They came down to 
breakfast, one clear morning, full of the 
project. 

“ O papa ! can’t we go to the woods, and 
have a good time ? ” said Harry. “ It’s such a 
splendid day, and the nuts will be so thick ! 
Say, papa, won’t you take us ? ” 

“ Oh, do ! Mamma and May, and me and 
you, and Harry. That will make five ; and 
we can go in the carryall,” supplemented 
Alice, her words coming so fast that they 
almost stopped her breath. 

“ ‘ Let’s go to the woods, said Richard to 
Robin,’ ” answered papa, laughing. ‘‘ You 
can talk pretty fast, Allie: that is certain. 
Let me see if I can go. To-day is Thursday. 
We are pretty busy at the store just now, 
but” — 


A NICE TIME. 


87 


“ Oh, goodie, goodie ! I know we can go 
now!” broke in Allie. “We always can, 
when papa stops and thinks, and says, 

“ Splendid ! ” said Harry. “ Manuna, you’ll 
go too: can’t you?” 

“I think so, if papa does,” answered 
mamma. 

“Is that all,” said Harry, “beside May? 
I wish Jamie Hill could go too. He’s such 
a good boy to climb. He can go up a tree 
like shot.” 

“ Well, then, I think it wouldn’t be fair if 
Jenny didn’t go too,” said Alice. 

“ But how could we get to the grove ? It 
is two miles off, at the very least,” answered 
Mr. Wniis. 

The children looked very blank at this 
query until their mother came to the rescue. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ couldn’t we have 
that picnic-wagon of Mr. WHde’s ? John 


88 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


could lead the horse over to his stable, and 
harness him there, if the wagon is to be had. 
I think ‘ Gray ’ could take us all, with Jamie 
and Jenny, as the distance is so short, and 
he will have all the day to rest in. I should 
like to ask Willie and Annie Morris tooj for 
they seldom have a treat of the kind. 
Wouldn’t that be very nice ? ” she said, 
turning to the two happy faces of her own 
children.- 

‘‘ Real nice,” said Hal. 

After some consultation, all was nicely 
arranged ; and about the middle of the fore- 
noon, the party were packed, with their big 
dinner-baskets, bound for the woods and the 
chestnuts. The four invited children were 
all there ; and happy enough they were, 
especially the little Morris pair, to whom this 
excursion was a charming novelty, — a bright 
day from which to date for many to come. 

“ Mamma, what have we got for dinner ? ” 


A NICE TIME. 


89 


said Harry, after the first excitement of start- 
ing was over. 

“ Oh, you’ll see, . by and by,” was the 
reply. 

“ Let’s guess,” said Alice. 

“ Well, you may guess all round,” said 
Mrs. Willis, “ and see if any of you hit 
right.” 

“ Company first, my dear,” she added, as 
she saw Harry’s mouth all made up to say 
‘‘ oysters,” of which he was especially fond. 

“ Willie, you may guess first.” 

The little fellow’s face gleamed with satis- 
faction, as he promptly replied, — 

“ Grapes.” 

“ Now, Annie,” said Mrs. Willis. • 

“ I guess candy,” she said shyly. 

Jamie thought there must be doughnuts, 
and Jenny said, “ Apple-pie.” 

“ Now, Hallie, it is your turn,” said 


mamma. 


90 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ Oysters,” still persisted Harry. 

“ I saw you put the things in the basket ; 
so I know what we’ve got for dinner,” said 
the truthful Alice. 

“Well, you deserve a guess for telling us 
that: so you may take your turn,” said 
mamma. 

“ Then I must guess a truly thing,” said 
the little girl ; “ and I’ll guess cold tongue.” 

Everybody laughed at Allie’s guess. 

“ Now,” said mamma, “ we must wait until 
dinner-time to see if anybody beside Allie has 
guessed right.” 

By this time, good old “ Gray ” had begun 
to enter the cool shade of the chestnuts. 
The grove was very beautiful. The great 
trees, with their smooth dark leaves, stood in 
goodly fellowship of greenness, only an occa- 
sional leaf or branch, giving token of their 
coming doom. Through their branches the 
light flickered, here and there, weaving its 


A NICE TIME. 


91 


web of shifting pattern on the soft, moist 
ground, clothed with ferns and vines. 

It was a cool, sweet, restful place ; and the 
quiet was unbroken, save by the fall of a nut, 
now and then, or the whir and buzz of insect- 
life, through which a bird’s song broke at 
intervals. 

“ Oh, how beautiful ! ” said Mrs. Willis, as 
her husband, after fastening the horse, pro- 
ceeded to help the party from the big 
wagon. 

“It is charming,” replied her husband. 
“It does us good, once in a while, to be 
young again with our children.” 

The forest stillness very soon gave way to 
the shouts and echoes of the young folks. 
The big trees suffered such a pelting, and 
shaking as they were forced to endure every 
autumn ; and wild was the excitement of the 
crazy little company as to who should gather 
most nuts, and pick them up the fastest. 


92 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


Mr. Willis was as full of fun as tlie chUdren 
themselves, and played with them very much 
to their satisfaction. Not a boy climbed the 
trees more nimbly than he ; and his hard 
strokes on the great branches sent down the 
chestnut-burs in clouds. 

“Papa is splendid to play with,” said 
Harry confidentially to Jamie, as they scram- 
bled about, gathering nuts. 

“ He plays ball with Allie and me, once in 
a while, and dominoes and checkers ; and we 
have real good times. Mamma plays croquet, 
too, when she has time.” 

In the midst of the merry-making, Mrs. 
Willis called the company to dinner. Alice 
had kept her discreet little mouth tightly 
closed as to the repast. Not a word would 
she tell as to what they were to have, not- 
withstanding various queries by the children 
upon the subject ; to all of whom, the dinner 
was one of the main points of the day. So 


A NICE TIME. 


93 


there was a rusli, now that the call was given ; 
and the children could hardly wait for the 
grace to be said, before the white cloth should 
be removed which covered the nice repast 
spread upon another cloth, over the green 
grass. As Mrs. Willis raised it, a suppressed 
laugh ran through the row of children. Sure 
enough, there were Willie’s grapes and An- 
nie’s candy. The apple-pie was lacking ; 
but the doughnuts were there, to be sure. 
Harry’s oysters also were minus ; but the 
tongue was “ splendid,” everybody said, and 
just about satisfied even the lad himself. 
Sweet bread and butter there were, and 
turnovers, one for each child ; and many 
good things beside. In short, the children 
thought they had a regular feast. 

In the midst of the dinner, Alice looked 
up suddenly to her mother, and said, 
“ Mamma, I wish Clemmie was here.” 

“ Oh, yes ! so do I,” said Harry. 


94 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


The mother’s heart ached a response. 
She had thought the same thing many times 
before that very day. Although she really 
could not desire his return from the sweet 
home wherein he now dwelt, yet for her no 
scene of pleasure transpired, but held within 
it a painful sense of imperfection, since she 
missed from it the dear presence of her baby. 
But she did not mean to have any shadows 
cast to-day, and she answered cheerfully, — 

“ I have thought so too, Allie ; but perhaps 
he is here with us now.” 

The children looked surprised. 

“ Here, Mrs Willis ! ” said Jamie Hill. 
“ Your baby that is dead ? ” 

“ Yes, Jamie, right here. His body is 
dead, I know ; but his soul is just as much 
alive as it was before it went to live in 
heaven. What thought and felt, is just as 
much alive as you are, Jamie.” 

Jamie was quite astonished. He hadn’t 


A NICE TBIE. 


95 


thought before, that babies who had gone 
to heaven, could come back again to this 
world. 

“If he can come back here again, why 
can’t Ave see him? ” said Annie Morris, in her 
modest way. 

“Suppose I hung a thick veil before my 
little May’s eyes,” ^swered Mrs. Willis, tak- 
ing May into her lap, “ could she see you 
then, Annie ? ” 

“ No, ma’am,” said the child. 

“ But you would he here just as truly as if 
she could see you, wouldn’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Now, my baby Clemmie is a spirit. His 
body is in the grave. You and I, as long as 
our souls are living in our bodies, can’t see 
spirits, or people that haven’t any bodies; 
but these spirits may be around us, even if 
we cannot see them.” 

“Allie,” said her father, “don’t you re- 


96 ABOVE AND BELOW. 

member that blind man who came to the gate 
one day last summer when you were with 
me in the garden? Don’t you know you 
handed him a bunch of roses, of various 
colors, because you thought them so beau- 
tiful?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“What did he say about them? ” 

“ He said they smelt very sweet.” 

“ Did he say anything about their colors ? ” 

“ No, sir ; and when I told him how many 
kinds there were, he couldn’t seem to imder- 
stand much better than he did before.” 

“ Well, you know, I told you that this was 
because he was blind, and never had known 
the difference between a white rose and a 
red one ; and yet there is a difference, isn’t 
there?” 

“ Why, of course, papa,” said Alice. 

“Well, this is like what mamma is explain- 
ing to you, my little people. Our baby may 


A NICE TEVtE. 


97 


be here, just as really as if you could all see 
him.” 

‘‘Do you suppose, papa,” said Harry, 
“that he would like to come back here, 
to stay and play, and have good times with 
us?” 

“No, my son, I don’t think he would. 
He is having a great deal better time in 
heaven than he ever could have here ; but I 
know he would enjoy seeing you- all happy, 
when your pleasure is right, and has no sin 
in it. Remember, children, sin is the only 
thing in the world that God hates. Now 
have you all had a good time ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ! yes, sir ! ” said all the children. 

“ Then get your baskets of nuts, and we 
will be starting ; for it is growing cool, and 
we want to get home before dark.” 

“ Papa, may I drive ? ” said Harry, as the 
picnic-wagon started toward the town. 

“Remember your company, my son,” said 


7 


98 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


mamma. “ Let us see what sort of a driver 
Willie makes, and then Jamie shall have his 
turn.” 

With the faultless and kindly delicacy 
which would not parade her care that the 
poorer and less favored child should not fail 
of the coveted privilege, she said quietly to 
Mr. Willis, “ Let Willie drive, please ; ” and, 
in the next moment, she tied around Annie’s 
black hair a bright vine of blackberry-leaves. 

“ Aren’t these leaves pretty, my child ? ” 
she said. “ This crown is for you, because you 
didn’t find any apple-pie to-day at dinner.” 

“ Thank you,” said the lady-like little girl. 

Five o’clock found all the young picnickers 
safely deposited in their respective homes. 
All declared that they had had a splendid 
picnic ; and all carried some new thoughts to 
their happy beds. It was so strange that 
angels were glad, when children down here 
were having a good time ! 



CHAPTER XI. 



CHRISTMAS PLANS. 

holidays were hard by, with all 
their fascinating associations. Christ- 
mas was always celebrated in some 
way in the Willis home ; and now 
the question was under discussion, whether 
there should this year be a “ Tree.” 

Of course, Harry and Alice were very 
anxious that this should be. Little May, 
too,- joined her entreaties to those of her 
brother and sister, though her notion of 
what she wanted was very vague. ' She was 
quite willing, however, to follow their lead, 





S'*’, 


100 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


being sure that they were always anxious for 
something very nice. After some consulta- 
tion between papa and mamma, they decided 
to gratify the children, and have a “ Tree.” 

Great was the joy and excitement in the 
prospect. Alice counted the days. “ One, 
two, three, four, five,” she said to Harry. 
“ Oh, my ! what a long time to wait ! ” 

“I wish it was here, this very minute,” 
said Harry; “but I suppose we have got to 
wait. Where shall we have the ‘ Tree,’ 
mamma ? 

“In the library, I think. We shall need 
the sitting-room for you children to play in, 
and” — 

“ What children? ” said Alice, quickly. 

* 

“Ah!” said mamma, “I have let out a 
part of the plan, I see.” 

“ Why, what are you going to do ? ” broke 
in Harry. 

“ Your father proposes, that we ask Uncle 


CHEISTMAS PLANS. 


101 


and Aunt Wilson to come to the “ Tree,” 
and Fred and Arthur, and Helen and Susie. 
That you would think pretty nice : wouldn’t 
you?” 

“Oh, splendid, splendid ! ” and both chil- 
dren danced over the room in a perfect 
abandon of joy. 

“ Anybody else, mamma ? ” said Allie, 
when the first excitement of the plan was 
over. 

“Yes, grandpa and grandma, if they feel 
equal to coming in such cold weather ; and I 
thought it would be nice to ask Willie and 
Annie Morris.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Allie. “ I heard An- 
nie say once, that she never saw a Christmas 
Tree in all her life.” 

“ Shall we have any presents, mamma ? ” 
said Harry. 

“ I shall try to have some small gift for 
everybody,” was the reply; “but we can- 


102 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


not afford to buy expensive presents, and we 
can give just as much love with them as if 
they were ever so valuable. The love is the 
best part of all, my dear : isn’t it ? ” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Harry. 

“Now, children,” she continued, “are you 
going to make any presents ? ” 

“We haven’t got much money,” said 
Alice. 

“ Well, never mind,” said mamma. “You 
can get some little presents with a little 
money, you know ; and that will be doing all 
you can. How much have you in your 
bank?” 

“I have seventy-five cents,” said Allie; 
“and Hallie has only seventy, because he 
spent five for candy.” 

“Well, don’t you want to spend a part of 
it for Christmas presents ? ” said their 
mother. 

“ How would it do to give half to the mis- 


CHRISTMAS PLANS. 


103 


sionaries, for Bibles to teach the poor little 
children about God, and the other half for 
gifts to the dear friends who are coming to 
see the ‘ Tree ’ ? ” 

“ I think that would be good,” said Harry. 
“ So do I,” added Alice ; and so the matter 
was, as mamma thought, settled. 

The next day, however, the two children 
came to their mother, with rather dubious 
faces ; and Harry, being as usual chief 
speaker, said ruefully, — 

“ Mamma, if I give half my pennies to the 
heathen, they’ll keep ’em ! ” 

Mamma laughed heartily. The poor little 
fellow was very tragic in his anticipated 
loss ; but it was all so droll, that she really 
couldn’t help it, though she tried to look 
grave, as she said, — 

“ Why, yes, my son, of course they’ll keep 
them, if you send them ; for how could the}^ 
buy the Bibles without any pennies? But 


104 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


you need not give them, unless you wish to 
do so. I do not want you to do anything 
with your money unwillingly. It is yours ; 
and you may keep it, or spend it for your- 
selves, if you prefer; but, Allie, don’t you 
think it would be pleasant to make some 
presents, yourselves ? ” 

The truthful little girl turned her head to 
one side in a deprecatory manner, and said, 
“I don’t think it would be nice, mamma; 
.but I’ll do it.” 

Mamma smiled again. Very well, my 
dear, you can do just as you please. I only 
thought that my children might like to make 
a little sacrifice for others, when they receive 
so many kindnesses, and expect to have gifts 
themselves.” 

Mrs. Willis dropped the subject just here. 
She preferred to leave the matter to the chil- 
dren to decide for themselves. In the mean 
time, she went on with her own preparations 
for the Christmas festivities. 


CHRISTMAS PLANS. 


105 


Time, although he travelled with leaden 
feet to the anxious children, did, neverthe- 
less, pass at last. The day before Christmas 
had at length arrived. Harry and Alice 
came to mamma’s door, in the morning, before 
she was dressed, to tell her they had decided 
that they wanted to give their money to the 
heathen, and for presents. 

“ Well,” said mamma, “ are you very sure 
you won’t be sorry afterward ? I should be 
mortified to have you come to me, after 
Christmas is over, and say, ‘ Mamma, I wish 
I hadn’t given my money away. Won’t you 
give me some more ? ’” 

“ No, ma’am,” said Allie. “ I am sure I 
would rather give it away,” 

“ And I, too,” said Hallie. 

“Very well, I am glad you feel so,” she 
answered. “ Now, to whom do you wish to 
make presents ? To Willie and Annie 
Morris, of course, I suppose.” 


106 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ And to Fred and Artie,” said Harry. 

“ And May and Helen, too,” added Allie ; 
“and Susie.” 

“ Why, we want to give papa and mamma, 
too, a present, of course ; and there are 
grandpa and grandma, beside,” said Harry. 

“ Why, we never thought of Bridget, or 
Uncle and Auntie Wilson ! Oh, my ! ” 
sighed Alice : “ how can we get so many 
presents, Harry, with our money ? ” 

“ There are a great many, to be sure,” said 
mamma. “ Now, let us see : how many cents 
are there for Christmas ? ” 

“Half of seven ty-five cents, and half of 
seventy, mamma.” 

“ Thirty-seven and a half, and thirty-five 
cents, then : so, in all, you have seventy-two 
and a half cents to buy presents for every- 
body. Of course, you want to buy them 
every bit with your owii money ; so we must 
make the seventy-two cents do it all. What 


CHRISTI^IAS PLANS. 


lOT 


can we get?” said Mrs. Willis. “I don’t 
know of anything that will cost so little, and 
go so far on the whole,” she continued, “ as 
candy. How would you like to give every- 
bocly a candy-bag ? ” 

“ Nice, nice, nice ! ” said Alice ; “ but 
who’ll make the bags ? ” 

“ I will,” said mamma.; “and we will have 
a different colored string for each bag, and 
then you can choose which shall be for each 
person. Harry can write a little now. Sup- 
pose he writes a big card, with the names of 
the people who are coming to see the ‘ Tree,’ 
and the color of the string intended for each, 
with the place where he or she will find the 
bag ? Then hang the card on the tree, and 
let each person hunt for. his bag, in the place 
mentioned on the card.” 

“ I don’t know what you mean, mamma,” 
said Harry, looking mystified. 

“Well, I will explain it again,” said she. 


108 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


After the plan had been made clear, both 
children were delighted with it. 

“Jolly, jolly ! ” said Harry. 

But here the breakfast-bell sounded ; and 
they all joined Mr. Willis in the dining- 
room. 





CHAPTER XII. 

THE “TREE.” 

IE eventful evening had come. All 
the people were gathered in the long 
parlor. Even grandpapa and grand- 
mamma had braved the cold weather, 
and joined the Christmas-party. 

The library at the end of the hall was 
locked, so that no curious eyes could peep at 
the “ Tree,” which mamma and Auntie 
Wilson had been all the afternoon arranging. 

It was not quite supper-time; and Mrs. 
Willis told the children that they might go 
into the sitting-room, and have some games, 



109 


no 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


if they would like. There was a grand rush 
for the sitting-room ; and, although the 
“ Tree ” was the thought uppermost in the 
mind of every child, yet they contrived to 
make themselves very happy and merry un- 
til they were summoned to supper. 

How charming the dining-room did look ! 
Long wreaths of trailing evergreen adorned 
the pictures, and festooned the walls. 
Christmas wreaths hung in all the windows, 
and the table added to its many attractive 
features a great bouquet of hothouse-flowers, 
which filled the room with fragrance. 

As for the supper, it was so bountiful that 
I can’t begin to tell you half the things there 
were. But in the middle of the ‘table, was 
a big — oh, such a big cake! round and 
thick,, which shone with frosting, and was 
surrounded with a wreath of green leaves. 
It was beautiful, I do assure you. 

Over the looking-glass, ran the motto, in 


THE “TREE.” 


Ill 


letters of green cedar, “ Merry Christmas ; ” 
and over the three doors, the several mottoes, 
“ Peace,” “ Good-will,” “ Glory to God.” 

The children hardly knew where they were. 
It didn’t seem a hit like the dining-room, 
hut like some sort of a fairy place. The 
bright gas-jets lighted everything to bril- 
liancy; and the young Morrises never had 
thought of anything half as lovely. 

Grandpa Wilson asked a blessing. He 
was a beautiful old man of seventy-five years. 
His hair was snow-white, and his face very 
peaceful. No wonder that the children loved 
him very much, for his heart was overflowing 
with love and good-will toward everybody. 
To-night he thanked God for the good gifts 
of his hand, and asked that those there as- 
sembled might be truly grateful for his best 
gift to the world,, of his only Son. 

The supper passed off very merrily. 
Every child had a Chris tmas-cake, beside the 


112 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


regular repast ; and, if it had not been that 
the “ Tree ” was coming, they would have 
been almost sorry to leave the dining-room. 
But everything will have an end ; and so at 
last the supper was over, and Mr. Willis, 
leading the way, said, — 

“ Now for the “ Tree.” Turning the key 
of the library-door, the beautiful evergreen 
was revealed, bright with candles’, and the 
shining pendants, which reflected back their 
light. Long strings of popped-corn, threaded 
alternately with cranberries, brightened the 
branches ; and the children almost stopped 
breathing with excitement, as papa and Uncle 
Wilson prepared to distribute the presents. 
Everybody had been remembered. . Mamma 
would be sure of that. Conspicuous upon 
the “ Tree,” hung Hallie’s big card of direc- 
tion. The dear little boy had labored over 
this work, I assure you. He could not write 
very well ; and so occasionally, in an emer- 


THE “TREE.” 


113 


gency, a printed letter was called to the res- 
cue, when he became especially puzzled. I 
will give you a copy of the card, as nearly as 
I can ; for everybody thought it a great suc- 
cess for a little boy only seven years old. 

C a r D. 

for CAnDy baGs. 

sTRing. 

May^s — in PlAy Thing box. whiTe. 

bRigeT — in diNENG Room Clusset — green. 
PApA — in LibrARy matCh Box — grAy. 
Uncle — WiLsoN — hAt TRee — Red. 

Willy. — SettN rooM kRiket — PiNK. 

hELLEn — PaRloR whAT not — BlUe. 
mAm A — bRAckEt in hALL. — puRple 

ARTee. — MiTTenS — BroWn. 

graMMa — BRekfUsT sHaUL — M AgenTy. 
gramP A — SpectuCklEs — MAntLe pece 
fReD. — sLeD. — Back haLL. Buff. (BIAK. 
AuNty WiLsoN. — fFRonT ChAmber 

BuRo — YeLLow 
Anny MoRRis. — hER PoKET. — oRAkge. 
SuSy — UnDER pArLor SoFy. DrAb. 


114 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“x was requested to read this card by 
Harry and Alice,” said Mr. Willis, after he 
had taken down the directory. “ Ev§ry per- 
son hereon mentioned will find something to 
his or her advantage by following the direc- 
tions appended to his or her name.” 

Great was the merriment as the candy-bags 
were found : and the children never were 
sorry that they had used some of their money 
for the pleasure of their friends. Especially 
astonished was Annie Morris, when she found 
that Harry had actually succeeded, after 
leaving the supper-table, in slipping her 
candy-bag into her pocket, without her 
knowledge. There were so many people at 
the Christmas gathering, and of course so 
great a variety of presents, that I cannot 
enumerate all. There were balls, and trans- 
parent slates, and a writing-desk, and nine- 
pins, and dolls, and dominoes, and checkers, 
and books, &c., &c. ; so that every single 


THE “TREE.” 


115 


person had something. But I must not for- 
get to say what little May gave her grand- 
mamma. Mamma’s thoughtful love did not 
forget her mother’s fondness for flowers, or 
her youngest daughter’s affection for them 
either. Calling May into the dining-room, 
she broke two rose-buds from the lovely bou- 
quet which graced the tea-table ; and, pin- 
ning them to the waist of May’s wliite dress, 
she said, — 

“ These sweet roses are for May. Now 
will she carry the big bouquet to grandma, 
and tell her it is for her, from May, and give 
her a kiss too ? ” 

The delighted child said, “Yes, mamma ; ” 
and carrying them to the dear old lady, she 
placed them in her lap, saying, as she held 
up her rosy lips for a kiss, “ May give pretty 
f ’owers to gamma.” 

The tears filled grandma’s eyes, and she 
could hardly speak her thanks, as she kissed 


116 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


the clear little thing, and stroked her golden 
curls. 

When the children were done examining 
all their gifts, Mrs. Willis said to them, — 

‘‘ Now, I have a little Sunday-school song 
for you to sing. It is not exactly a Christ- 
mas song, but it will do for this time, as for 
all seasons ; and I want you to sing it, be- 
cause you all know it.” 

So sitting down at the piano, the mother 

played the old familiar air, — 

# 

“ I think when I read that sweet story of old, 

When Jesus was here among men, 

How he called little children as lambs to his fold, 

■I should like to have been with him then.” 

The choir of child-voices took up the 
melody, and sung the several verses, as much 
to their own pleasure as that of the older 
people who heard them. 

After the song was ended, as it was grow- 


THE “TEEE.” 


117 


ing late, Mr. Willis thought the little people 
had better be making ready for bed ; and,, as 
it was time for Willie and Annie Morris to 
go home, he started for his coat and hat to 
accompany them. Just as they were ready 
to open the front door, Mrs. Willis slipped 
out, and returning with a big bundle, gave it 
to Willie, whispering, — 

“Ask your mother if she will please ac- 
cept this Christmas cake, with my love.” 

After the departure of the friends, who all 
left the same evening, save the grandparents, 
as the family returned to the sitting-room, 
Allie suddenly exclaimed, — 

“ Why, mamma, you have trimmed Clem- 
mie’s picture ! ” 

“I didn’t see it before,” said Harry. 

“ Didn’t you ? ” said mamma. 

“ Why, what lovely flowers ! ” continued 
Alice. “ Roses and smilax and heliotrope.” 

“ I suppose you were so busy and excited, 


118 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


that you didn’t notice,’’ said their mother; 
but I wanted to have something to make us 
think of the baby, for I know he is very glad 
that there is a Christmas Day.” 

“ Clemmie ! ” said Harry. “ Why, he is in 
heaven. I don’t see why he should care 
much for Christmas. I don’t suppose he has 
any presents : has he ? ” 

“ I don’t know that he has,” said mamma ; 
“but he is very glad of Christmas, for all 
that.” 

“Why?” said Allie. 

“ What makes Christmas such a happy day 
to us f ” said mamma. 

“Because we have presents, and a good 
time.” 

“ And don’t have any ‘ stints,’ ” said 
Harry. 

“ And no lessons,” added his sister. 

“ But isn’t there any other reason ? ” said 


mamma. 


THE “TKEE.” 


119 


“Oh,. I know!” said Alice. “Because 
Jesus was bom then.” 

“Well, why should we be very glad that 
he was born ? ” 

“ Because he was good and kind,” said the 
little girl. 

“ And because he died for us,” said Harry. 

“Yes,” said mamma. “If he had not 
been born, and died for us, you know we 
should have kept on sinning, with no desire 
or hope of being saved. Well, now if we 
try to follow Christ, we hope to go to heaven, 
sometime : don’t we ? ” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said both children. 

“ But our dear baby has gone to heaven 
already,” continued their mother. “ He 
knows more about J esus than we do, because 
he is right with him all the time ; and he 
loves him better than we do, because now he 
is holy, and never does anything wrong to 
grieve the Saviour. So don’t you think 


120 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


that Clemmie is very, very glad of Christ- 
mas?” 

“ I guess he is, don’t you, papa ? ” said 
Harry. 

“ I do, indeed, my son,” said Mr. Willis, 
who had just come in; and there was a 
quiver in his voice, and a mist before his 
eyes. “ Let us. pray to God to make us all 
truly thankful for the gift of his Son ; ” and, 
kneeling down, the evening prayer went up, 
laden with gratitude to God for his “un- 
speakable gift.” 




CHAPTER XIII. 



“HECTOR. 

TELL you what, Al, this is a tip-top 
morning to coast,” exclaimed Harry, 
one sharp, clear day. “Won’t my 
double-runners go prime on such a 
crust as this ? I should think we might go 
most down to the brook, without stopping 
once.” 

“Yes,” said Allie, “ I wish we could skate 
too ; but papa says the ice isn’t safe, it’s so 
thin.” 


“ Come on ! ” said Harry, as, with a jump, 
rush, and plunge, he started for the hill be- 
fore his sled. 


121 


122 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ When can I go? ” said Alice, in an ap- 
prehensive voice, as her brother seated him- 
self on the “ North Wind,” and prepared for 
a slide. 

‘‘Wait till I’ve had one alone,”’said the 
young man : “ then perhaps you can go.” 

So the patient little maiden waited until 
the long way back had been traversed, only 
to learn to her dismay, that Harry expected 
her to engineer her own way down hill. 

“ O Hal ! ” she exclaimed, “ I don’t dare 
to : I don’t know how. Do steer me, 
please ! ” 

“There, that’s just like a girl! I’d be 
ashamed not to know how to slide down 
hill ! ” was the gallant rejoinder. 

“ Well, get on in front,” he added, a gleam 
of mischief astir in his eyes, which less hon- 
est and confiding orbs than those of AUie, 
might have suspected of something not so 
accordant with her own wishes. But she 


“ HECTOR.” 123 

seated herself obediently, and adjusted her- 
self with great care, grasping both sides of 
the sled firmly, and leaving a small space be- 
hind for Harry, who took it, and with a 
“hip, hip, hurrah ! ” started the swift-footed 
little affair upon its way down hill. After it 
was fairly upon its way, the 3"Oung gentleman 
took occasion to slip off quietly, and leave 
his sister to finish the journey all by herself. 
Allie was not slow to ascertain her lack of 
company; and, between the fright at her 
lonely situation, and the overpoise of the 
front part of the sled, she very soon parted 
company with her conveyance, and, with a 
violent pitch, landed on the crust in no 
gentle fashion. 

A loud scream announced the conclusion 
of Harry’s experiment; and the poor child* 
rose, with the blood running down her face 
in two or three trickles, while the tears ran 
in measure yet more abundant. 


124 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ O Harry Willis ! ’’ she sobbed, “ You are a 
wicked boy. I shalL tell mamma ! ” and 
Alice started for the house, crying bitterly. 

She burst into the sitting-room in such a 
desperate way, and between blood and tears, 
looked -so utterly forlorn, that her mother 
jumped from her chair, appalled at such a 
state of things. 

“ My child, what is the matter?” she ex- 
claimed. 

“ O mamma, Harry is dreadful naughty ! 
He got on — the — sled — and — then — got 
off — and — I tumbled off — and I — hurt 
my face — dreadfully — and — oh ! — Here 
the overwhelmed child finished up with an 
unintelligible sob. 

After she had become a little calmer, and 
her mother had learned the particulars of 
the accident, Mrs. Willis started in pursuit 
of the offender, who had not yet made his 
appearance. In truth, Harry’s reflections 


“ HECTOR. 


125 




were far from pleasant. There was no 
farther interest in coasting. He hadn’t 
touched the* sled since Allie’s fall, and was 
now trying to entertain himself by building 
a snow-man; but somehow everything had 
lost its interest. He kept wondering whether 
A1 was hurt much ; but he didn’t want to go 
into the house, for his mother would be sure 
to look at him in her sad way, even if she 
didn’t say anything ; and Harry would rather 
have her scold, if she only ever would, rather 
than do that. 

It came across the little lad’s conscious- 
ness, that it was only a few days ago he had 
frightened his sister, and ‘distressed his 
mother. The trouble happened in this wise. 

Harry had persuaded Alice to climb one 
of the small cherry-trees in the garden, by 
means of the step-ladder. Instead of follow- 
ing her, as she had expected him to do, he 
had taken away the steps after she was hiirly 


126 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


up, and left her perched there, with no 
means of getting down. To a child of 
Allie’s sensitive, timid temperam'ent, this was 
a very severe joke ; and, although she suf- 
fered no accident in consequence, she never- 
theless endured more than a little terror in 
the dread of falling, which Harry had in- 
creased by running off for a few moments, 
and enjoying a convulsive laugh, all by him- 
self, af the fun of the thing. 

All this sounds very naughty, but I don’t 
think the lad had a particle of malice in the 
matter. It was only the fun that he thought 
of. His sister was so surprised, and looked 
so droll, up there high and dry ; and then it 
was an agreeable consciousness of power, 
when he knew that she couldn’t possibly get 
down without his permission. 

“ Even if she did fall from the low bough, 
the fall couldn’t hurt a fly,” he said to him- 
self. But all these jokes, though “ nuts ” to 


“ HECTOB.' 


12T 


Harry, were anything but “nuts” to poor 
Alice ; and Hal was beginning to feel as if 
they weren’t so interesting experiences, even 
to himself, as he had considered them. Some- 
how the sunlight had stolen out of the day. 
He wished he had not thought of coasting at 
all. He wished, if he had, that A1 hadn’t 
gone with him. He wished a hundred 
things hadn’t happened, all of which had 
happened, and so couldn’t possibly be helped. 

Suddenly, while this very uncomfortable, 
wretched boy was walking about in the 
garden, his mother’s voice was heard, call- 

ing.— 

“ Harry, Harry ! Where are you ? ” 

“ Here,” was the answer, in a very meek 
voice, that did not sound much like his usual 
merry shout. Harry’s feet shirked duty to- 
day. He travelled up the broad walk very 
slowly. He dreaded to see mamma : that is 
the truth of the matter; and every crunch 


128 ABOVE AND BELOW. 

of the softening crust under his tardy feet, 
he wished might be longer. 

Oh, dear me ! what miserable company is 
a guilty conscience ! What a pity it is, that 
we do not always keep conscience our friend, 
instead of ever making it our harsh enemy ! 

“ What is to be done with this boy ? ” said 
mamma very gravely, as Harry sauntered 
into the sitting-room, with bowed head and 
downcast eyes. 

“ Well, mamma,” said the young offender, 
‘‘ I only did it for fun.” 

“ Do you think it looks like fun for your 
sister ? ” said his mother. “ Look at her 
face. What do you think of that? ” 

“Well, I think she might have held on 
well enough,” was the ungracious rejoinder. 

“ What right have you to play tricks on 
Allie, just to please yourself? I am morti- 
fied. and grieved that my little boy is so 
cruel,” answered Mrs. Willis. “ How would 


“ HECTOR.” 129 

you like to have some big boy set you on 
some horse that he could manage perfectly 
well, but that you would be very much afraid 
of ? and then how would you feel if this big 
boy should stand and laugh, to see you hang- 
ing on to the horse’s mane, while you begged 
somebody to help yon ? 

‘‘ I don’t believe I should be afraid,” said 
Harry stoutly. “ Girls cry at every little 
thing, but boys don’t. I wish I had a boy 
to play with. • Now, I can’t have any fun at 
all.” 

“ I am sorry I have a boy who is so hard- 
hearted,” said his mother, “I think some- 
times, when I see wicked boys in the street, 
that I am glad little Clemmie is safe from all 
sin, with God. Perhaps God saw that it 
wouldn’t be safe to have our baby grow up 
under Harry’s influence. How drea’dfnl it 
would have been, to have him ruined by the 
example of his elder brother ! ” 


130 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ Harry looked startled. ‘‘ Why, mamma, 
don’t you want Clemmie alive agaiji ? ” 

“ Not if he- must he a wicked hoy,” said 
his mother. “ I would a great deal rather 
have him safe with God, than to have his 
soul in peril here in this world. You may 
go up to your room, my son, and think this 
matter over. I am distressed that you are 
not sorry for all the pain you have caused 
your sister. I know that you did not intend 
to do her any harm, but it doesn’t seem pos- 
sible that you shouldn’t feel badly, when you 
see the result of your thoughtlessness. 

Dinner-time came. The bell rang, but no 
Harry appeared. Mrs. Willis went up to the 
chamber, and found him sitting by the win- 
dow, crying quietly. 

“Well, my son, what do you think about 
this matter ? ” she said gently. 

“ I am sorry, mamma,” was the answer. 

“Will you try not to trouble your sister 
in future, Harry ? ” 


131 


“ HECTOE.” 

“ Yes, ma’am ; but it’s awful hard not 
to ‘hector’ once in a while; and the first 
thing I know, I’m doing it.” 

“ Yes, dear ; but very often it is also being 
very cruel to be a ‘ hector ’ Try to remem- 
ber, too, to ask the help of the only Being 
'vfho can help you conquer yourself. Have 
you asked his forgiveness for to-day ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said Harry. 

“ Is there anybody else to see ? ” said 
mamma. 

“Allie, I suppose,” he said, rising to go 
down stairs, while his mother added, — 

“ And I think there had better be no more 
coasting or skating this week for Harry. He 
needs something to remind him of the lesson 
of this unhappy day.” 



CHAPTER XIV. 

“pilgrim’s progress.’ 

UNDAY, — and a driving snow-storm. 
There was no such thing as going 
to church to-day; and two disap- 
pointed faces looked out at the win- 
dows, down the drifted walk to the more 
drifted road, where the track of the occa- 
sional sleighs was quickly covered by the 
driving storm. 

“ Breakfast is ready,” said mamma’s voice, 
at the foot of the stairs. “ Are you ready, 
children ? ” 

“ All ready.” 



132 


“pilghem’s progress.” 


133 


“Then come down quick, for we are 
waiting.” 

“ These beans are splendid, mamma,” said 
Harry, regarding the contents of his plate 
with great approbation. 

“Yes,” said mamma. “This breakfast 
seems quite inseparable from Sunday to me.” 

“Did you have beans and brown bread, 
Sunday mornings, when you were a little 
girl? ” struck in Alice. 

“ Yes, always,” answered mamma. “ It is 
a distinct remembrance of my childhood, — 
the Sunday breakfast; and there is some- 
thing pleasant to me in having everything 
about the sabbath agreeably distinctive, even 
to what we shall eat and what we shall 
drink.” 

“ Hallie, I believe it is your turn to choose 
the Sunday-morning reading,” said his father, 
as, breakfast being over, he took the Bible, 
preparatory to prayers. 


134 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“Good!” said Harry, I guess I’ll have 
Daniel in the lions’ den. Wouldn’t you, A1 ? 
That, or Joseph with his coat dipped in the 
blood, and all stained up.” 

The little lad’s interest in Bible-readings, 
gravitated very strongly to the heroic and 
tragic, as has the interest of many another boy. 

“I guess, this ‘time. I’ll have Daniel,” he 
concluded, after a moment’s hesitation, the 
grandeur of the lions rather superseding that 
of the slaughtered kid of the goats. 

“Very well,” said papa; and Harry’s 
characteristic comment upon the history 
was, — 

“ God was stronger than the lions, you see. 
I knew he would be, all the time.” 

“ What shall we sing, my dear ? ” said Mr. 
Willis, turning to his wife, after the chapter 
was finished. ^ 

“I always enjoy the old sabbath hymn, 
‘ Thine -earthly sabbaths,’ ” she said. 


“pilgrim’s progress.” 


135 


All joined in the sweet old melody, of 
“ Surrey ; ” and even the children, with all 
their exuberant life and joy, entered some- 
what into the sentiment of its rest and calm. 

“ What shall we do, such a long, lonesome 
day ? ” said Harry, a little later, as he stood 
by the sitting-room window, watching the 
blinding flight of snow. “We can’t go out, 
because it’s Sunday.” 

“ And I can’t play with my dolls, because 
mamma says I am too old now to use them 
Sundays. I do wish we could play Sxmdays,” 
said Alice, regretfully. 

The children’s grandmother had not yet 
gone home. Mamma had insisted upon a 
^ood long visit, now that her mother had 
come to the Christmas gathering. These re- 
marks of the children attracted her notice ; 
and sTie turned to her daughter. 

“Katherine,” she said, “have you ever 
read ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress ’ to the children ? ” 


136 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“I haven’t, mother, because I, supposed 
the children were not old enough to compre- 
hend the allegory. There are so many allu- 
sions and discussions that are utterly beyond 
their understanding, that I have feared the 
whole story might lose its interest from be- 
ing so brokenly and imperfectly read.” 

“ I think they would enjoy it very much, 
nevertheless,” said grandmamma; “and I 
have a mind to read a little to them. It may 
help make this stormy day pleasant, and sup- 
plernent your usual Sunday programme.” 

“ Yes, so it may,” said Mrs. Willis. 
“ Children, would you like to hear grandma 
read in ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress ’ ? ” 

“What is it about?” said Harry. “I 
guess I would.” 

“Very well: when May has her nap, 
I will begin,” said grandmamma. “ f sup- 
pose mamma will want to have her regular 
Sunday ‘ meeting ’ ? ” 


“pilgeim’s peogeess.” 


137 


“Yes, ma’am,” said Allie : “we hardly 
ever leave that out, Sundays. May calls 
for her tune, just as much as Hallie and I 
do.” 

“ Where shall we have our ‘ meeting ’ to- 
day, mamma ? ” said Harry. 

“In the library, I think. So if you are 
ready, we will have it now ; for May’s eyes 
begin to look heavy. 

This “ meeting ” was an institution in the 
Willis home. It began in the days when 
Harry was not old enough to attend church 
on the sabbath, and had been continued for 
Allie ’s benefit, until she, too, was old enough 
for church-going. Now, little May was had 
especially in mind, though all the children 
enjoyed the simple service very much. 

When all were quietly seated in the « 
library, mamma said, — 

“Now, you may all choose your tunes. 
Harry, what shall yours be to-day ? ” 


138 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ ‘ I’m going to be a soldier,’ ” was the 
ready response. 

And yours, Allie ? ” 

“ ‘ When He cometh, when He cometh to 
make up his jewels,’ ” she replied. 

“We will sing, for little May’s, ‘We are 
three little children.’ ” 

“ Ess — itty chillens,” chimed in May. 

“ And I,” said mamma, “ will have ‘ Ever- 
green Shore ’ for my tune. But before we 
sing, I will hear your little catechism. I 
wonder if you remember your last Sunday’s 
questions.” . 

Here followed the recitations, and the 
learning of the new lesson for the day; 
when each child led in his or her brief 
prayer, and the mother concluded the chil- 
^ dren’s service by reading to them from the 
Bible, and commending them to the care and 
love of the Saviour. 

“ These ‘ meetings ’ ” she would sometimes 


“ PILGREVl’S PEOGEESS.” 


139 


say, “ will be a pleasant memory to the chil- 
dren all their lives. The Lord grant that 
the influence may sometime prove a strong 
band which, with God’s blessing, shall draw 
them away from temptation.” 

“ Now, grandma, for the ‘ Pilgrim ’ ! ” said 
Harry, when the “meeting” was over. 

“Yes, my dear, I am all ready : ” and so, 
when the four bright eyes were all attention, 
she began the wonderful story of the Bedford 
Tinker. 

“ ‘ As I walked through the wilderness of 
the world, I lighted on a certain place where 
was a den, and laid me down in that place to 
sleep : and, as I slept, I dreamed a dream.’ ” 

“ What means ‘ wilderness ’ grandma ? ” 
said Allie. 

“-Pretty early to begin with explanations,” 
thought grandma. “ I don’t know but their 
mother was in the right, and they are too 
young to understand.” 


140 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


But as she read on in the enticing story, 
both children listened most eagerly, until at 
last their grandmother paused from real 
weariness. 

“ Oh, don’t stop, grandma ! ” said Harry. 
“ I want to see if Beelzebub shot at Chris- 
tian, when he started again from the Wicket 
Gate.” 

“ Poor Christian ! ” exclaimed the tender- 
hearted Allie. “ I think he had a very hard 
time.” . 

“ I guess I must wait for a while,” said 
grandma; “for I am very tired, and you 
have heard enough already to keep you 
thinking for some time.” 

Lunch was now ready ; dinner there was 
none in the house on Sunday. Mrs. Willis 
used to say, that dinner never would get it- 
self: somebody must stay at home from 
church to cook it, if dinner was to be had at 
all. She didn’t wish to abridge the “rest- 


“pilgeim’s peogeess.” 


141 


day” of the servants to do this; so lunch 
was substituted for the usual noonday meal ; 
and the children always expected a heartier 
supper than usual, on the sabbath. 

Pictures and story-readings, with a game 
of Scripture characters, and some singing 
with the piano, filled the remaining hours of 
the day ; and toward evening, a quiet “ con- 
stitutional,” up and down the long front hall, 
“to walk off the nervous,” as Harry said. 
Supper was earlier than on the other days of 
the week, so that prayers might forestall sleep. 

To-night, when the bell rang, Harry gave 
a bound toward the dining-room. “I am 
awful glad supper’s ready,” he exclaimed; 
“ for we almost always have oysters Sunday 
nights.” 

“ Goodie, goodie ! ” chimed in Allie ; 
“mamma says she always means to have a 
better supper Sunday nights, because Sunday 
is the nicest day there is.” 


142 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ That is quite an idea,” thought grandma, 
“ making even the ‘creature comforts’ min- 
ister to the pleasant associations of God’s 
day.” 

“ Now for the verses,” said papa, when the 
supper was over. “May may say hers 
first.” 

“ ‘ Itty chil’en, ’ove un anover,’ ” re- 
sponded May, in her pretty broken words. 

“ That means, that May must love Hal- 
lie and Allie and everybody,” said papa. 
“ Alice, yours, now.” 

“ ‘ Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so 
fulfil the law of Christ.’ What does ‘ fulfil ’ 
mean, papa? ” 

“ It means, carry out the Saviour’s desire,” 
said her father. “You understand what the 
rest of the verse means, don’t you ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Well then, Hallie, what is your verse ? ” 

“ ‘ Resist the Devil, and he will flee from 


“PILGHm’s PKOGEESS.” 


143 


you.’ Say, papa, could the Devil come in 
here, and try to carry us off ? ” 

Harry always had an eye out for adven- 
ture, and couldn’t resist the charm of an 
encounter of some sort, even if it came in 
the shape of the arch-enemy. 

“ Spirits do not attack people, as men do,” 
his father answered. “ They fight with our 
souls, not with our bodies. We must pray 
to God to resist, that is, to conquer tempta- 
tion in our hearts.” 

“ ‘ Keep thy heart with all diligence ; for 
out of it are the issues of life,’ ” repeated 
Mrs. Willis, as she was next in order of 
age. 

“ What do you think that means, Hallie ? ” 

“To be good, I suppose,” was the very 
general interpretation of the little lad. 

“Why do we need to keep our hearts 
pure, Allie,” she continued, “if we are care- 
ful not to do anything wrong ? ” 


144 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ I s’pose,” said the little girl, “ that we 
always do what our hearts want us to.” 

“ Yes : that is the trouble,” said mamnia ; 
“ and so we must ask God to help us keep 
our hearts from wanting to sin.” 

“ Now, papa, it is your turn,” said Harry. 

“ Yes : I am all ready,” was the answer. 
“ ‘ What shall we then say to these things ? 
If God be for us, who can be against us ? ’ 
That means, if God loves us, and helps us, 
nobody can do us any real harm. He is 
stronger than ^all evil spirits and all wicked 
men; and he will help us to conquer at 
last.” 

“ ‘ In everything give thanks,’ ” said 
grandmamma. 

“ I know what that means,” said Alice. 

“ Well, you may tell us,” responded 
grandma. 

“ It means, to thank God for all the nice 
things he has given us,” said she, coyly. 


“pilgrim’s progress,” 


145 


“ Yes, my dear child ; and to thank him, 
too, for those that don’t seem so nice,” said 
grandma ; “ because he never does anything 
that isn’t just right.” 

“ Why, grandma, I don’t think we ought 
to thank God for every bad thing,” said 
Alice. 

“ Yes, dear, we should try to do so, cer- 
tainly,” said grandma. 

“ I don’t think I can be glad that Clemmie 
died,” said the little girl. 

The remark startled all the group, for they 
had not expected so hard a test to be brought 
to the application of the text. 

“Well, my child,” said mamma, the tears 
springing to her eyes, “we will try to be 
willing to have him go from us ; and if we 
try, God will help us at last to rejoice that he 
is so happy, even though we are so lonely 
without him.” 

“ Some day,” said the father. “ In heaven 


10 


146 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


certainly, if we don’t understand it ever in 
this world, we shall see that it was the very 
kindest thing God could have done for us, to 
take little Clemment from us. We must he 
patient, and trust God about the matter for a 
while.” 

“ I can see some blessed fruits that have 
come from our sorrow already,” said Mrs. 
Willis, with a tremble in her voice “ but we 
will talk about that another time. Let us 
sing ‘ Sweet Hour of Prayer,’ for it is nearly 
time these little folks were in bed.” 

So after the singing and the prayer, the 
children went up to their pretty chamber, 
and were soon ready for their sweet, un- 
troubled sleep. 

“ Mamma,” said Harry, thoughtfully, after 
prayers were said, and some talk had been 
held about “ Pilgrim’s Progress,” “ what an 
old cross-patch the Devil is ! ” 

“Well, Harry!” answered his mother, 
laughing, in spite of herself. 


“ pilgeim’s peogeess.” 


147 


“He any way,” persisted the boy. 
“ Now say, mamma, isn’t he ? ” 

“He is a very malignant and wicked 
being, certainly, my son; and he is also a 
very powerful spirit. It seems too light a 
way in which to speak of one who can do, 
and is doing, us so much harm.” 

Allie’s mind was still exercised by the ex- 
periences of Christian. “Mamma, why did 
the man at the gate give Christian such a 
hard pull ? ” she said. 

“ Why, so that Beelzebub’s arrows would 
not hit him, you know.” 

“ But I don’t think it was Christian’s 
fault that Beelzebub shot at him,” persisted 
Allie.* “And if he had been killed, he 
wouldn’t have been to blame. He couldn’t 
help it.” 

“ But he would have been to blame, if he 
hadn’t let Mr. .Goodwill pull him out of the 
way of the arrows: wouldn’t he?” said 


148 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


mamma. “ Suppose lie had said, ^Mr. Good- 
will, don’t pull me so ; I would rather stand 
here at the door by myself ; I want to see 
the people that pass, and I don’t believe 
Beelzebub will hit me with his arrows.’ So 
if my children do not mind Jesus, and try 
to keep away from temptation, will they not 
be to blame when the Devil leads them into 


sin ? ” 


“Yes, ma’am,” said Alice. 

“ Well, don’t forget,” said mamma. 
“Good-night.” 




CHAPTER XV. 



EESXJEEEGTION. 

lU^HE snow had nearly disappeared. 
Here and there, a patch still lay, 
slowly wasting in the spring sun, 
while “the willows by the water- 
courses” were as busy as could be, bring- 
ing out “ on parade ” their ranks of gray 
“pussys.” The buds on the trees were all 
a-swell. Through the air came the gurgle 
of the .unfettered brooks; and the fresh 
ground-smell of the waking earth sent 
through the being that indefinable spring- 
thrill which is one of the few sensations that 


149 


150 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


we carry over with us into our middle life. 
Through the saddening cloud of experience 
behind us, it sends its subtle associations of 
youth and gladness. It will not be saddened 
into death by the sorrow which has slain 
most other sensations of youthful joy. 

The Willis family had not been to Mt. 
Auburn since the late autumn. The winter 
snows had lain deep over the rest of their 
baby; and not a storm had driven, during 
all these months, when his mother’s heart 
had not turned to him in his silent bed, and 
longed to fold the inanimate dust in a 
warmer wrapping than its white blanket of 
snow. Strange, is it not, that our poor 
human hearts cling so unreasoningly to the 
dust, and involuntarily invest it in our 
thought with consciousness and sensibility ? 

One April afternoon, when “ the blue 
heavens were glad ” with sunshine, another 
ride was planned to Mt. Auburn. The chil- 


RESURRECTION. 


151 


dren were wild with joy. The spring spirit 
had come upon them in very truth. Every 
bush, and blade of grass, and bursting leaf, 
which caught their attention along the road 
awakened new wonder and joy. The robins 
were beginning to sing, and May was in 
ecstasies. As they drove up the long avenue 
which led to the family-lot, Allie said sud- 
denly, “Papa, do you s’];)ose Clemmie will 
look just as he used to, when we see him in 
heaven? ” 

“ We cannot tell much about it, my dear,” 
said her father. “ The Bible doesn’t say, 
certainly ; but I have no doubt that the baby 
will look so much as he did, that we shall 
know him right off.” 

“ I should think he would grow lots,” said 
Harry. “Why, he’s almost two years old, 
now.” 

“ O mamma ! ” said Allie. “ I don’t want 
him to be anything but a baby. He was so 


152 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


cunning ! Will he grow up in heaven, 
mamma ? ” 

Mrs. Willis half echoed her daughter’s 
wish. Was she not herself looking forward 
with mother yearnings to the clasping again 
of her baby ? The tears stood in her eyes, 
as she said, — 

“ Well, dear, that is one of the things that 
we cannot exactly know about. W e want 
to see Clemmie again just as he was when 
he left us, and perhaps we shall; but we 
never can half think how much more beauti- 
ful he is in his heavenly home than he was 
in ours. But however changed he may be 
when we see him, I am sure we shall know 
him perfectly. He will be our own dear 
Clemmie just the same.” 

“ On the other hand,” said papa, “ you 
wouldn’t like, children, to have Clemmie 
keep a little baby, all the time, while you 
were growing older and wiser. How strange 


RESUilRECTION. 


153 


it would be, if you did not go to heaven 
until you were grown up, to find there your 
lahy brother, while you and Allie, perhaps, 
were an old gray-haired man and woman! 
Wouldn’t that be a little unpleasant? ” 

“ Why yes, papa,” said Alice, “ I think it 
would ; but then, I do want to see the baby 
again, just as he used to be.” 

“Here we are,” said Harry, as the lily- 
wreathed cross caught his eye. “Here is 
Clemmie’s cross.” 

The little mound was growing green. 
White crocuses, and blue, and yellow, 
studded the turf about it; and here and 
there a clump of blue violets looked out from 
their green leaves. 

“ How beautiful this spot will be when 
June roses are here!” said Mrs. Willis. 
“Almost a year since he left us,” she added, 
laying her hand caressingly upon the white 
stone. “How much he has learned since 


154 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


that time ! How much more he will learn 
before this little dust awakes in the Resur- 
rection ! ” 

“ What an awakening that will be ! ” said 
the father. “ Only think, children, how 
many there are to rise from this great inclo- 
sure, when the end of the world comes ! ” 

“ Shall we be here to rise too ? ” said 
Harry. 

“ Probably,” answered his father. . “ I 
suppose that our bodies will all be laid here 
after we die.” 

“It is very pleasant to think of our all 
sleeping and waking together,” said the 
mother. 

“I think I shall be afraid,” said Alice, 
“ so many dead people coming alive again.” 

“ If we are Christians, we shall be happier 
then than we ever were before,” she an- 
swered; “because we shall be sure then, that 
the sad things about this world are all over 


EESUREECTION. 


155 


forever. W e can never sin or suifer or die 
any more, after we have risen from this 
ground.” 

“I don’t see how everybody can be just 
as they were before,” interposed Harry. 
“ If they all turn to dust, I should think the 
trees and flowers woifld grow up out of ’em, 
and the bushes, and everything. And when 
the trees have used up the dusts, the bodies 
can’t have them too, as I see.” 

“ Ah ! my son,” answered his father, “ you 
have come to the deep things of God ! ” 

“ What does that mean ? ” 

“ Why, the matters that are too great for 
us to understand. W e cannot tell ‘ how the 
dead are raised up.’ But God says that they 
shall arise ; and we believe the statement, 
because God never tells an untruth. How- 
ever, on the way home, I will show you 
something that may help you to understand 
a little more about the Resurrection.” 


156 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ What is it, papa ? ” said Alice. 

“ You will see,” was the reply. 

Half-way home, by the roadside, stood a 
few straggling corn-stalks, which had been 
left over from the harvesting of the autumn 
previous. This was the text from which Mr. 
Willis proposed his sermon for the puzzled 
Harry. 

“ There, my son,” he said, as he stopped 
the horse opposite the faded and broken corn, 
“ What are those ? ” 

‘‘ Why, corn-stalks, of course,” said Harry. 

“ What made them grow ? ” said Mr. 
Willis. “ Did they . come up of them- 
selves ? ” 

“ You know they didn’t, papa. Somebo'dy 
planted corn there last spring.” 

“ But I don’t think those stalks look much 
like corn,” said his father. 

“Well, they are corn-stalks, any way,” 
said Harry. “ I know they are.” 


EESUEEECTION. 


157 


“ Wliat do you think, Allie ? ” said papa. 

. “ I know so, too,” was the answer. 

“ But really now, do they look one bit like 
the corn-seed that somebody planted in the 
spring ? ” 

“ No, sir,” said Alice. “ But they had some 
corn on them, besides the leaves and the 
stalks and the flowers and everything, I 
suppose ; because our corn-stalks did, and we 
used to have the ears of corn for dinner.” 

‘‘ Yes, my dear ; and there is just the very 
thing that I thought might help you about 
the Resurrection. When God raises up our 
bodies at the last day, I suppose there will 
be a great many things about us that will be 
very different from our old selves, — just as 
the corn-stalk and leaves now, are very un- 
like the corn that was planted. _Yet I think 
too, there will be some things about our new 
spiritual bodies which will be very like those 
we now wear, — just as, running through 


158 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


these pretty green wrappings of leaves, ran 
the cob, closely set with the white full 
kernels, like in character to the seeds from 
which they grew. Do you understand what 
I mean ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said both children. 

“And I think, too,” said Mrs. Willis, 
“ that it will only be the sweet and good and 
holy things that will be left of our old selves 
when God gives us the new bodies. We 
shall have more about us that is like Christ, 
if we are his, by and by, than we have now, 
— just as there Mways is a great deal more 
corn on the stalk, than was planted in the 
ground.” 

“ So, children, the more holiness we bring 
in our hearts, while we live in this world, the 
more there will be when we reach heaven,” 
added their father. 

“I think it is very hard to understand, 
papa,” said Harry. 


KESURRECTION. 


159 


“ I wish we had all got through being dead 
and buried up in the ground,” said Alice. 
“ Being like an angel is the nicest part of it, 
I think.” 

Mamma smiled. Yes, bairnie, I think we 
shall all agree on that point,” she said. ‘‘ I 
think we will read something at prayers, this 
evening, about the Resurrection. St. Paul 
says some very grand things about it; but, 
after all, it is a vast mysterious truth. We 
may be sure of one thing, that ‘ we shall be 
raised ; ’ for God has said it, and we can rest 
in his assurance.” 

“ Are we going to have the Resurrection 
verses, papa ? ” said Alice, as the family 
moved back from the tea-table, in preparation 
for the evening devotions. 

Mr. Willis turned to those grand old words 
that have sounded their triumphant paean 
down through the centuries, rolling their 
unfaltering notes high above the desolate 


160 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


wail of mortality, — “I know that my 
Redeemer liveth.” Fittest key-note to the 
harmony completed in the word of that 
Redeemer, — “I am the Resurrection and 
the Life. Whosoever liveth and belie veth in 
me, shall never die ! ” 

“ Well, children, are you ready? ” said the 
father. “You may turn to the fifteenth chap- 
ter of first Corinthians, thirty-fifth verse,” — 

“‘But some man will say. How are the 
dead raised up ? and with what body do they 
come? 

“ ‘ Thou fool, that which thou so west is not 
quickened except it die : 

“ ‘ And that which thou so west, thou so west 
not that body that shall be, but bare grain ; it 
may chance of wheat, or of some other grain.’ ” 

“You remember, we talked about the new 
form of the corn to-day, children. You no- 
tice the apostle says, ‘ Thou sowest not that 
body that shall be.’ ” 


RESUEEECTION. 


161 


“ That’s just what you said to-day, papa,” 
interposed Harry. 

“Yes, my son: I was trying to make St. 
Paul’s meaning clear to you and Allie.” 

Then, reading slowly, he paused at the 
‘ forty-third verse, — 

“ ‘ It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in 
glory : it is sown in weakness, it is raised in 
power : 

“ ‘ It is sown a natural body, it is raised a 
spiritual body.’ ” 

“ What does that mean? ” queried Alice. 

“ Don’t you remember the talk we had in 
the coach, when we were carrying little 
Clem mi e to Mt. Auburn ? ” answered 
mamma. “You remember that the baby’s 
face had changed, and the shades under his 
eyes had deepened. That was the beginning 
of the ‘ corruption ’ St. Paul speaks of. 
When he is raised, he will be glorious ; and 
that will be the ‘ incorruption.’ ” 


11 


162 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ ‘ And as we have borne the image of the 
earthy, we shall also bear the image of the 
heavenly,’ ” read Mr. Willis. 

“ ‘ Behold, I show you a mystery.' We shall 
not all sleep ; but we shall all be changed. 

“ ‘ In a moment, in the twinkling of an ’ 
eye, at the last trump : for the trumpet shall 
sound, and the dead shall be raised incor- 
ruptible, and we shall be changed. 

“ ‘ For this corruptible must put on in cor- 
ruption, and this mortal must put on immor- 
tality. 

“ ‘ So when this corruptible shall have put 
on incorruption, and this mortal shall have 
put on immortality, then shall be brought to 
pass the saying that is written. Death is 
swallowed up in victory. 

“ ‘ O death ! where is thy sting ? O grave ! 
where is thy victory ? 

“‘The sting of death is sin; and the 
strength of sin is the law. 


EESUHEECTION. 


163 


“ ‘ But thanks be to God, which giveth us 
the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ. 

“ ‘ Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye 
steadfast, immovable, always abounding in 
the work of the Lord, for as much as ye 
know that your labor is not in vain in the 
Lord.’ ” 

There was a moment’s silence as Mr. 
Willis concluded the grand words. Th’en 
the father lifted up his heart in gratitude to 
God, that this great victory is possible to all, 
— even a little child coming off “ more than 
conqueror, through Him who hath loved us, 
smd given Himself for us ! ” 



CHAPTER XVI. 



THE PAEABLE. 

day following tlie talk about the 
Resurrection, Alice sat with the large 
photograph-album open at the baby’s 
picture. Her face wore a thoughtful, 
wistful look. At last, looking up to her 
mother, she said, — 

“ Mamma, I do wish I could see Clemmie. 
It is such a long time to wait. I should 
think he would ask God to let him come 
down to see us sbmetimes, when he knows 
how much we want to see him.” 

“ He may be with us, my child, now, this 


164 


THE PARABLE. 


165 


minute, though we can’t see him,” was the 
answer. 

“ But it don’t do a bit of good, mamma, 
if we can’t see him,” said Harry, turning 
quickly round from a long “ train ” of chairs, 
crickets, and boxes, which he had just put 
into successful operation. 

“I have a story for you,” said mamma. 
“ I remembered it yesterday, when we were 
talking about the corn ; but you were too 
tired to hear it after prayers last evening : so 
I saved it for to-day. 

“ Good ! ” said Harry. “ You always read 
us splendid stories, mamma.” 

“ This is a parable of Mrs. Gatty’s ; and it 
may show you how Clemmie may be very 
near us, and yet we not be able to see him, 
or he* be able to talk with us. Would you 
like to hear that ? It isn’t about horses or 
dogs or engines : so don’t be expecting any- 
thing of that sort.” 


166 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“Well, I’d like to hear it any way,” said 
Harry. 

So ’Aamma read to the children the para- 
ble, which had already brought comfort to 
her own heart : — 

NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFOBE. 

Once there was a beautiful pond, in the 
centre of a wood. Trees and flowers were 
growing about it: birds sang, and insects 
hummed above it. Under the water, too, 
there was a little world of beings. Fishes, 
and little creatures that live in water, filled 
it full of busy life. Among them was the 
grub of a dragon-fly, with a large family of 
brothers and sisters. Now, before he became 
a dragon-fly, darting through the air -and 
flashing back the sunshine, he was a ’dark, 
scaly grub, and lived down in the forest pond. 
He and his family were born there, and knew 
no other world. They spent their time in 


THE PARABLE. 


16T 


roving in and out among the plants at the 
bottom of the water, in search of food. 

But one day this grub began to talk among 
his mates about the frog. “ Every little 
while,” said he, “the frog goes to the side 
of the water, and disappears. What becomes 
of him, when he leaves this world ? What 
can there be beyond ? ” 

“You idle fellow,” replied another grub, 
“ attend to the world you are in, and leave 
the ‘ beyond ’ to those that are there ! ” 

So said all his relations; and the curious 
grub tried to forget his questionings ; but he 
could not do it. So one day, when he heard 
a splash in the water, and saw a great yellow 
frog swim down to the bottom, he screwed 
up his courage to ask the frog himself. 

“ Honored frog,” said he, approaching that 
dignified person as meekly as possible,” per- 
mit me to inquire what there is beyond the 
world.” 


168 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“What do you mean?” said the frog, 
rolling his goggle eyes. 

“This world, of course, — our world,” 
answered the grub. 

“ This pond, you mean,” remarked the 
frog, with a sneer. 

“ I mean the place we live in. I call it 
the world,” cried the grub, with spirit. 

“ Do you, indeed ? ” rejoined the frog. 
“Then what is the place you don’t live in? 
the ‘ beyond ’ the world, eh ? ” 

“ That is just what I want you to tell me,” 
replied the grub briskly. 

“Well then,” said froggy, “ it is dryland.” 

“Can one swim about there ? ” asked the 
grub. 

“Dry land is not water, little fellow,” 
chuckled the frog. “ That is just what it is 
not.” 

“ But tell me what it ^5,” persisted the 
grub. 


THE PAEABLE. 


169 


“Well, then, you troublesome creature,’’ 
cried the frog, “ dry land is something like 
the bottom of this pond, only it is not wet, 
because there is no water.” 

“ Really,” said the grub, “ what is there, 
then?” 

“ They call it air,” replied the frog. “ It 
is the nearest approach to nothing.” 

Finding that he could not make the grub 
understand, the good-natured frog offered to 
take him on his back up to the dry land, 
where the grub might see for himself. The 
grub was delighted. He dropped himself 
down upon the frog’s back, and clung closely 
to him while he swam up to the rushes at 
the water’s edge. But the moment he 
emerged into the air, the grub fell reeling 
back into the water, panting and struggling 
for life. 

“ Horrible ! ” cried he, as soon as he had 
rallied a little. There is nothing but death 


170 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


beyond the world. The frog deceived me. 
He cannot go there at any rate.” 

Then the grub told his story to his friends ; 
and they talked a great deal about the mys- 
tery, but could arrive at no explanation. 

That evening the yellow frog appeared 
again at the bottom of the pond. 

“ You here ! ” cried the startled grub : “ you 
never left this world at all, I suppose ! ” 

“ Clumsy creature ! ” replied the frog, 
“why did you not cling to my back? 
When I landed on the grass, you were 
gone.” 

The grub related his death-like struggle, 
and added, “Since there is nothing but 
death beyond this world, all your stories 
about going there, must be false.” 

“ I forgave your offensive remarks,” said 
the frog, gravely, “because I have learned 
to-day the cause of your tiresome curiosity. 
As I was hopping about in the grass on the 


THE PABABLE. 


171 


edge of the pond, I saw one of your race 
slowly climbing up the stalk of a reed. 
Suddenly, there appeared a rent in his scaly 
coat, and after many struggles, there came 
out of it one of those radiant dragon-flies 
that float in the air I told you of. He lifted 
his wings out of the carcass he was leaving ; 
and when they had dried in the sunshine, he 
flew glittering away. I conclude that you 
grubs will do the same thing by and by.” 

The grub listened with astonishment and 
distrust, and swam off to tell his friends. 
They decided that it. was impossible non- 
sense ; and the grub said he would think no 
more about it. He hurried restlessly about 
in the water, hunting for his prey, and trying 
to forget. But not long after, he began to 
be sick; and a feeling he could not resist 
impelled him to go upward. He called to 
his relations, and said, — 

“ I must leave you ; I know not why. If 


172 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


the frog’s story of another world is true, I 
solemnly promise to return, and tell you.” 

His friends accompanied him to the water’s 
edge, where he vanished from their sight; 
for their eyes were fitted to see only in 
water. All day they watched and waited 
for his return ; hut he came no more. One 
of his brothers soon felt the same irresistible 
impulse upward; and he also promised the 
sorrowing family, that, if he should indeed 
be changed into that glorious creature of 
which they had heard, he would return and 
tell them. 

“ But,” said one, “ perhaps you might not 
be able to come back.” 

“ A creature so exalted could certainly do 
anything,” replied the departing grub. 

But he came not again. 

“ He has forgotten us,” said one. 

“ He is dead,” said another. “ There is 


no other world.” 


THE PAEAHLE. 


173 


And now a third brother felt the same in- 
ward necessity driving him upward. He 
bade his friends farewell, saying, “ I dare not 
promise to return. If possible, I will; but 
do not fear in me an altered or forgetful 
heart. If that world exists, we may not un- 
derstand its nature.” 

His companions lingered near the spot 
where he disappeared ; but there was neither 
sight nor sound of his return. Only the 
dreary sense of bereavement reminded 
them that he had once lived. Some feared 
the future ; some disbelieved ; some hoped, 
and looked forward still. 

Ah! if the poor things could oijly have 
seen into the pure air above their watery 
world, they would have beheld those departed 
friends often returning to its borders. But 
into the world of waters, they could never 
more enter. The least touch upon its sur- 
face, as the dragon-fly skimmed over it with 


174 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


the purpose of descending to his friends, 
brought on a deadly shock, such as he had 
felt, when, as a water-grub, he had tried to 
come upward into the air. His new wings 
instantly bore him back. 

And thus, divided yet .near, parted yet 
united by love, he often hovered about the 
barrier that separated him from his early 
companions, watching till they, too, should 
come forth into the better life. 

Sweet it was to each new comer, to find 
himself not alone in his joyous existence, 
but welcomed into it by those who had 
gone before. Sweet also to know, that, 
even in their ignorant life below, gleams 
from the wings of the lost ones they had 
lamented were shining down into their dark 
abode. 

Oh, if they had known, they woidd 
neither have feared nor sorrowed so much ! 


THE PARABLE. 


175 


As Mrs. Willis finished the story, Allie 
looked up, and said, — 

“ Mamma, do you suppose the dragon-fly 
felt badly because he couldn’t go back to his 
home ? ” 

“Perhaps he sometimes had a sight of his 
water-friends when the pond was clear,” was 
the answer ; “ and then too, I suppose he 
knew that it would be but a little while be- 
fore all he had left behind would be with 
him, and they would all be happy and 
beautiful together. I dare say, too, that 
he enjoyed his wings so much that he 
couldn’t want to live again in the cold, dark 
water.” 

“ I shouldn’t think he would, I’m sure,” 
said Harry. “It must be great fun to fly 
about, anywhere you want to.” 

“ That is what Clemmie can do, of 
course,” added Allie. “ Perhaps he flies in 
here, any time, just to take a look at us. 


176 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


Oh, dear! how I do wish we could see 
him ! ” 

“ God grant that we may all be ready f6r 
the wings, when death comes ! ” said Mrs. 
Willis fervently. 




CHAPTER XVIL 



DISOBEDIENCE. 

jll'HIS is an awful cold day, isn’t it?” 
said Harry at breakfast the following 
morning, when a sudden return of 
winter had surprised everybody from 
the dream of summer which the warmth of 
the few previous days had brought. 

“ Say, papa, won’t it be jolly skating to- 
day ? It’s so cold, the ice will be frozen over 
pretty thick, I guess.” 

“ I don’t think it will be strong enough to 
be safe,” answered his father. Everything 
was in a very thawed condition yesterday. 


12 


177 


178 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


The brook was running quite clear in one or 
two places, I noticed.” 

Harry’s countenance fell. “Why, papa,” 
he remonstrated, “ I know it will be strong 
enough. I do want to skate once more; 
and I can give Allie a splendid ride on my 
sled.” 

“Well, my son, I don’t think it be^t for 
you to venture to-day,” answered liis father 
decisively. 

Harry said no more ; but a bitter feeling 
tarried in his heart, and a private belief that 
he was an abused boy. 

That forenoon Mrs. Willis went out on an 
errand. May was asleep. As their mother 
left the house, she said to the children, — 

“Be sure not to go out on the ice. It is 
very unsafe to venture.” 

“ I think it is too bad,” said Harry, twist- 
ing his top-string, after his mother had closed 
the door; “just as though I wasn’t big 


DISOBEDIENCE. 


179 


enough to know where the ice was too thin 
to bear us. Papa thinks I am a baby, 
instead of a big boy. Say, Al, ain’t it 
mean ? ” 

Allie was very apt to fall into the train of 
her brother’s thought and action : so she 
came to his support in her usual loyal fashion, 
replying, “ I think you know about the ice. 
I’m sure you go out skating a great deal 
more than papa does; and I know there 
won’t be another chance this winter.” 

“ I know it,” said Harry ; and the revolt 
in his heart grew stronger and fiercer. “ I 
don’t care : I think it’s too bad, I say,” he 
added. “ Papa don’t know how bad we feel 
to stay shut up here in the house, when all 
the other boys and girls are having such good 
times.” 

“ Mamma didn’t say we couldn’t go out- 
doors,” interposed Allie. 

“Well, who cares about going out-doors, 


180 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


if we can’t be on the ice,” answered Hal. 
“ I don’t, I’m sure.” 

All possible pleasure within-doors had 
faded into stupidity for these two children. 
Indeed, there was nothing among all their 
many books, games, and playthings that was 
in the least interesting ; and both Harry and 
Alice sat moping, with very dissatisfied and 
unhappy faces. 

At last Harry said abruptly, “ I say, Al, 
let’s go out a little way on the pond.” 

Alice looked thunderstruck; for with all 
her insubmission at the detention within- 
doors, the thought of disobedience had not 
even entered her more timid heart. 

It is astonishing how rapidly the most 
feeble inclination gathers strength under the 
consideration of sin, if once we stop to look. 

“ I’m afraid to,” she answered presently. 
“ Why, Harry, papa and mamma will know 
it, if we go.” 


DISOBEDIENCE. 


181 


“No, they needn’t,” said Harry. “We 
won’t go but a little bit of a ways, you know ; 
and we’ll get back before mamma comes back 
from the store.” 

“ Do you think we could ? ” said Alice. 

“Yes, indeed ; ” and I don’t think it is fair 
in papQ, to say we can’t go,” continued Harry, 
trying to prop up his own courage by making 
his father’s command seem unreasonable to 
his sister and himself. 

“ I don’t think it is fair, either,” answered 
Alice, hesitatingly. 

“Well now, hurry up then, and we will 
go out at the front-door; and nobody will 
see us.” 

Alice ran up into her chamber for her 
wrappings. She was all of a tremble with 
fear, and her heart beat guiltily ; but mingled 
with all this, there was a pleasure in the 
thought of the expected excursion, and a 
strange, new excitement in the way of attain- 
ing it. 


182 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


Ah, little Alice ! the great enemy knows 
so well how to lure us on to sin ; but he 
takes care to hedge up the backward path 
from wrong-doing with briers and thorns, 
which are harsh to meet. 

In about three minutes Alice had donned 
her outer garments, and, running down 
stairs, found Harry waiting for her just out- 
side the front-door. The two youthful trans- 
gressors scudded down the walk, and hurried 
along the road to the pond. The truth was, 
they must be in haste with their plans, for 
mamma might be back before long. When 
they had reached the pond, a few venture- 
some boys were there, to be sure, but by no 
means the crowd that Harry had predicted. 

It was a glorious day; and this was an 
extra grace of departing Winter, in the line 
of skating. But it was precarious business ; 
for the sun was very fast undoing the work 
of the last night. 


DISOBEDEEITCE. 


183 


\ 

Harry bade Allie seat herself on the sled, 
while he strapped on liis skates. “These 
are getting too small for me. I guess you 
can havo ’em next winter, Al,” he remarked 
magnanimously, “and I’ll have a new pair 
of flat-bottomed rockers.” 

“ Well, hurry,” said Alice, “or I sha’n’t 
have any good time at all.” 

“All right, .here we go!” he shouted, 
jmnping up; and off he flashed over the 
glittering ice, curving and gliding in a score 
of graceful sweeps, the sled and its light 
burden following surely in his wake. 

“ Look out for the thin ice, my little man,” 
said a large boy near by. “ For my part, I 
don’t thinli it is fit for any of us to be skat- 
ing on such a skim as this ; and I’m going 
home,” he said, as he turned toward the 
bank. 

“ O Harry ! ” said Allie, terrified by the 
last remark, “ do let’s go right back home I 


184 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


I’m afraid we shall get into the water, and 
be drowned. I don’t think it’s very nice out 
here, any way.” 

“ Well,” said her brother, we’ll go, if you 
want to.” And Harry seemed to need very 
little solicitation to accept the suggestion. 
He unstrapped his skates, adjusted Alice 
upon the sled, and dragged her home ; but 
somehow the enthusiasm of the enterprise 
flagged exceedingly, and a vague dread filled 
its place. 

‘‘I wonder if mamma has got home,” said 
Alice at last, breaking the silence. 

‘‘ I guess not,” responded Harry, with a 
show of indifference in his manner. “If 
she has though, I guess she won’t care 
much.” 

Alice did not reply. When they reached 
the house, she slipped up stairs, and, after 
taking off her cloak and hood, came down 
into the sitting-room, to find Harry there. 


DISOBEDIENCE. 


185 


sitting in a very dull, uninterested sort of a 
way. 

“ Where’s mamma? ” she said anxiously. 

“ She hasn’t come home yet, Bridget 
says.” 

A sigh of relief broke from Allie’s lips. 

Now that mamma really hadn’t come, 
Harry could well afford to seem brave and 
indifferent. “ I knew she wouldn’t be here 
so soon ; and I knew it wouldn’t do us any 
harm to go on the ice. So now you see I 
knew better than papa ; for we didn’t break 
through, did we ? ” 

“No,” said Allie ; “ but I don’t think it 
was much fun: do you, Harry? ’Twa’n’t 
half as nice as I thought it would be.” 

“ I think it was pretty good,” said Harry. 
But his answer was rather hesitating; and 
his face did not brighten, as it was apt to 
do, when he talked about having “a jolly 
time.” 


186 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


Pretty soon Mrs. Willis returned. There 
was not the usual rush to meet mamma. 
The children returned her greeting very 
quietly; at which she looked a little sur- 
prised, and said, — 

“ Haven’t you had a nice time since I went 
away, children ? ” 

“ Pretty good,” answered Harry. 

“ Not very,” added Alice. 

“ I am sorry,” said mamma. “ All because • 
of the disappointment about the ice, I sup- 
pose ? I felt very sorry that you couldn’t be 
gratified ; but it would have been a very rash 
thing to do; so I have been thinking of 
giving you a little treat this afternoon, to 
make up for the disappointment this morn- 
ing.” 

“ Where are we going ? ” said Harry. 

“ I thought we would go in town, and see 
the stuffed animals at the museum. W ouldn’t 
that be nice ? ” 


DISOBEDIENCE. 


187 


“ Yes’m,” said both children ; but there 
was a shade of soitiething in both voices that 
did not indicate the light-hearted joy they 
would usually have shown in such a pleasant 
plan. ^ 

Mamma wondered at the quiet way in 
which they received the suggestion ; but she 
said nothing, thinking that no plan for their 
entertainment might seem to their eyes quite 
an equivalent for the prohibited pleasure, — 
forbidden sweets always having a paramount 
sweetness to all others. So she went up 
stairs to dress May, who had waked from her 
nap ; and Harry and Allie, left by them- 
selves, looked unutterable things at each 
other. 

Only to think that their dear, kind mother 
had been all this time planning a pleasure 
for them, because she knew how great was 
their disappointment in the morning. Both 
felt themselves to be very mean and dishon- 


188 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


orable. Two disobedient children they were, 
slipping away like cowards, when they felt 
mamma would not know of their absence. 
And now they were cowards again, neither 
having honesty enough to confess their diso- 
bedience, but taking the unmerited pleasure 
their mother had in store for them without 
telling her that they did not deserve it. 

There was a slight pause after she left the 
room. At length, Harry said, with a show 
of bravery, — 

“ I don’t care anything about going to the 
museum.” 

“ I wish mamma knew we had been on the 
ice,” said Alice. 

“ Why don’t you tell her then ? ” said her 
brother, ‘‘ if you wish she knew.” 

Most sincerely Harry wished she would ; 
and he jumped at her confession. 

“ Because I can’t bear to,” she answered. 
“ She will think we are so wicked, and look 


so grieved.” 


DISOBEDIENCE. 


189 


“Well, I don’t think it was so very 
wrong,” said Harry stoutly. “We didn’t 
stay but just a minute anyhow.” 

“Children,” said Mrs. Willis from the 
head of the stairs, “Run into the dining- 
room. Bridget has prepared lunch for you ; 
and the train goes at twelve, so we can’t 
wait for dinner. May has gone down 
already. When you have eaten, come up 
stairs, and put on your wraps. I will be 
ready by that time.” 

The doughnuts did not taste natural to- 
day^ They wer’n’t as sweet as usual: so 
the children thought. Generally they were 
a very favorite Imich with them both. How 
guilt poisons even the smallest incidentals of 
life ! 

At last the party were fairly started for 
the city. Generally, Harry would have been 
half wild with excitement over a car-ride ; 
but the sun didn’t shine very brightly for him 


190 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


to-day, and tlie sights out of the windows did 
not keep Allie’s eyes as busy as usual. 

When they reached the museum, both 
were more entertained, of course. They 
couldn’t possibly help being greatly inter- 
ested in the stuffed beasts and birds. 

When, for instance, Harry reached a cage 
containing a lion, the troublesome weight at 
his heart did grow light for a few moments ; 
and memory fell asleep while he admired and 
wondered at the tawny monster, — his ideal 
of majesty and power. 

So too, Alice, of course, must have a great 
interest in the queer little monkeys, perched 
in their cages in such droll attitudes, as if 
they certainly were alive. She laughed out 
loud at their comical faces, that had such 
ludicrous grimaces upon them, though they 
were dead all the while. 

But after all, guilt never lets people be 
more than half happy, even at the best: so 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 




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DISOBEDIENCE. 


191 


it is not strange, that, despite all the attrac- 
tions of the sights about them, the pair of 
wonder-gazers did not enjoy the afternoon 
half as much as. mamma supposed they 
would. 

That evening, after they had gone to their 
beds, when she went up to hear the prayers, 
she said, — 

“I think there must be something that 
troubles you, children. It can’t be, either, 
that it is only caused by the disappointment 
about the skating. Isn’t there something 
else?” 

“ Oh, yes, mamma ! ” said Alice, bursting 
into tears, “ there is — and ” — 

“ I’ll tell, Allie,” broke in Harry manfully : 
“you needn’t, for I was most to blame.” 

Then with a big swallow, out came a full, 
honest confession of all the wrong-doing. 

“So,” said mamma, when Harry paused, 
“ this has been the trouble with the day, has 


192 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


it ? I don’t wonder you didn’t have a very 
good time in the city. There has been an 
ache in your hearts all the time, hasn’t 
there?” 

“ ’Most all,” said truthful Alice, remem- 
bering the monkeys, and some other diver- 
sions of the excursion. 

‘‘I didn’t have much fun,” added Harry, 
“ though the lions were splendid.” 

I think you can have some idea how the 
lost spirits must feel,” said mamma. “ They 
have disobeyed God, and have a guilty feel- 
ing in their souls all the time.” 

“They must feel awfully, then,” said 
Alice. 

“ The difference between their state and 
yours,” said mamma, “is, that you children 
are sorry, I hope, for your disobedience ; and 
they never are. All the time that they have 
bitter remorse in their souls, and know they 
have disobeyed a holy, loving God, they 


DISOBEDIENCE. 


193 


have no wish to do right, and love him. 
Just think how dreadful that must be.” 

“lam very sorry for them,” said the piti- 
ful Alice. 

“But, mamma,” broke in Harry, “there 
didn’t anything happen to us, after all. We 
didn’t break through the ice, and got home 
safe.” 

“Yes,” said mamma : “ God was very 
kind, and kept you back from death, when 
you were walking very near its brink. But 
you were not happy, even though you met 
with no accident : were you ? ” 

“Ho, I wasn’t,” said Harry. 

“So you see, my children, that sin is sure 
to punish us bitterly, even if it gives us the 
very pleasure we are seeking. You came 
home safe ; but guilt came in your hearts, 
and you were wretched. Do you remember 
about the fallen angels ? Papa read of them 
at prayers, the other day.” 


13 


194 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“Yes’m,” said Harry, promptly. “ ’Twas 
about Michael’s fighting with the Devil.” 

“Yes,” answered mamma; “and they 
were thrust out of heaven, because they 
rebelled against, that is, disobeyed, God. 
That spirit Cannot be suffered in heaven. 
An angel there has no wish to do anything 
that displeases God, because he can wish 
nothing that is not perfectly holy.” 

“ Doesn’t Clemmie ever think he wants to 
do anything God don’t wish him to ? ” said 
Harry. 

“ Of course not, Harry,” said Alice. 
“ Angels don’t ever do anything wrong ; and 
he’s like an angel, you know.” 

“Well,” I don’t think ’twould be any 
harm, just to think what he wanted to do, if 
he didn’t do it,” said Harry. 

“It is the thinking that leads to the do- 
ing,” said mamma. If the fallen angels had 
not kept on thinking, they would never have 


DISOBEDIENCE. 


195 


revolted against God, and would now have 
been blessed and happy in heaven. Stop 
the naughty thinking, Harry, when you first 
begin, if you wish to stop the naughty 
deeds.” 

“I’m glad you know about our going on 
the ice,” said Harry, his voice full of con- 
tent. 

“ Oh, so am I ! ” added Alice : “ the heavy 
has all gone,” • 

“Yes, when you have asked your heavenly 
Father to forgive you. . You have sinned 
against him more than against your father 
and me. Don’t forget that. Goo^ ’^io’ht.” 




CHAPTER XVIII. 



JPICTUEES IN THE EIEE. 

»HE grate-fire shone ^Yarm and cheer- 
ful. March blustered into early 
April. The mornings and evenings 
were chilly, and a fire was comfort- 
able ; beside which, every member of the 
family enjoyed the cheer and brightness of 
the glowing coals. And when day was done, 
the three little Willis folk curled themselves 
up about the grate, to see pictures in the 
blaze, and tell stories about them. 

Harry and Alice sat thus one evening. 

“ Aren’t the coals splendid and red ? ” said 


196 


PICTtJEES IN THE EIEE. 


197 


the lad, after both children had looked 
silently into the ruddy depths for some 
minutes, 

“ The blue flames are real pretty too,” 
added Alice. “ Some of the large ones bend 
over just as if they were going to kiss the 
“little tiny ones.” 

“ That great bouncer looks like the star- 
spangled banner,” broke in Harry ; “ and the 
crackles that come once in a while are about 
as good as fire-crackers. They wopld be 
jolly for the Fourth of July : now wouldn’t 
they?” 

“Yes; but I think the snaps sound more 
like torpedoes,” said the exact little maiden, 
who always distinguished conscientiously 
between “ tweedledum and tweedledee.” 
“ Now, Hal, let’s tell stories about the coals,” 
she continued. “ Which’ll tell first ? 

“I will,” said Harry. “That great big 
coal is a strong castle, something like Giant 


198 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


Despair’s, and there’s a long narrow walk up 
to it.” 

“ Where ? ” interrupted Alice. 

“ Why, right there. Don’t you see ? It’s 
as bright as anything, and those little crocky 
coals are a wall round the castle, so the pris- 
oners can’t get out, any way.” 

“ I don’t see any prisoners,” suggested 
Alice. 

“ Why, of course you can’t. They’re all 
inside.^ The giant don’t mean to let them 
get away. I guess I’ll play that Christian 
and Hopeful are down in the dungeon now. 
That is the flag on the top of the tower. 
When the prisoners come out, they will 
have to come down the bright walk : won’t 
they?” 

‘‘Yes, I suppose'so ; but it is so bright in 
the giant’s castle,” said the little girl, “ that 
I should think he could see them go.” 

“Well, they won’t try to get out till the 


PICTURES m THE FIRE. 


199 


lamps are put out,” said Harry, who seldom 
was at a loss to dispose of. his exigencies. 
“ They’ll get out some way. I’ll bet,” he 
continued. “ Now, Al, it’s your turn to tell 
a story.” 

“Well,” returned Allie, “I’m going to 
play that little row of red coals was six 
little children ; and the big coal right behind 
them is their mamma, and she’s got a little 
baby-coal in her arms. It’s a cunning little 
thing.” 

Here the fire maliciously snapped ; and all 
six children, besides mamma and baby, were 
tossed into indiscriminate confusion, the fam- 
ily being broken up completely. 

“ There, my play is all spoiled,” said Allie 
regretfully. 

“ Never mind : you can tell another story,” 
said Harry graciously. In the present in- 
stance, the opportunity of magnanimity, and 
of hearing another tale, harmonized most 
delightfully. 


200 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“Well then,” began his sister, “I guess 
Til play “ Pilgrim’s Progress,” and make 
believe all the fire is the Celestial City.” 

“ Goodie, goodie ! ” said Harry. “ That 
would be jolly. You can play the iron 
round the fire is the Dark River ; but what 
can you have for the Shining Ones ? 

“ I’ll play they had their house up there in 
that biggest red coal,” said Allie, “but they 
hadn’t come out yet.” 

“ Then they will have to come down that 
splendid little road that I had for Christian 
and Hopeful,” added Harry. 

“What are my chicks talking about?” 
said mamma, coming in just in time to hear 
a portion of the last sentence. “Well, 
‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ is quite a play, I am 
sure,” she said, when the features of the 
picture had been pointed out for her consid- 
eration, by the young artists. “ Still,” she 
continued, “I think it is better to be pil- 


PICTUEES IN THE FIEE. 


201 


grims, than to play pilgrims. What do you 
think?” 

“I don’t think it would be half as good 
fun,” answered Harry. 

“ Christian had an awful hard time,” 
added Alice. “ 1 should have thought he 
would hawe been all tired out and dis- 
couraged, before he got to the Celestial City. 
Shouldn’t you, mamma ? ” 

“ But if we are not real pilgrims, dear, we 
never shall reach the Celestial City ourselves,” 
said mamma. '‘’•Playing go, won’t help us 
there a single step.” 

“I don’t think Clemmie had to be a pil- 
grim,” said Allie musingly. 

‘‘ Of course not,” interposed Harry. 
“ What could a baby like him do ? All he 
was big enough for was just to creep. But 
he’s gone to heaven any way, mamma.” 

“Yes, my son, he is there,” said Mrs. 
Willis ; and a smile of content played upon 


202 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


her lips. “ He went so early in his pilgrim- 
age, that he didn’t have to meet any of the 
harder enemies that we do, who are older ; 
for the different temptations that meet ns are 
harder and harder to resist, as we grow 
older.” 

“ Well, if he didn’t have to meet Apollyon, 
and Giant Despair, and Mr. Worldly Wise- 
man, ai^d many more,” said Harry hurriedly, 
“I don’t think it was much like being a 
pilgrim. ’Twa’n’t very hard, any way.” 

“Yet, my son, our baby certainly was a 
pilgrim. If he had not gone through the 
Wicket Gate ‘ at the head of the way,’ even 
dear little Clemmie would not have gone to 
heaven.” 

“Why, mamma?” said Alice. 

“There was that in his dear baby-heart 
which would have led him to sin, had he 
grown old enough to know how,” answered 
her mother, ‘ ‘ Every human soul is naturally 


PICTUEES IN THE FIEE. 


203 


unholy; but Jesus Christ died to save every 
soul that believes in him : and babies who die 
before they are old enough to be sorry for sin, 
he takes to heaven, because he died for them 
too.” 

“ Well, that is good,” said Harry. 

“Yes,” said mamma. “It is just as 
though Jesus had taken one of Christina’s 
little babies in his arms ; one of the ghildren 
that couldn’t walk alone, I mean, and then, 
before it reached the cross where Christian’s 
burden fell off, had carried it straight to the 
Celestial City by some such short way as 
Faithful went. Not the same way, perhaps, 
but a near, pleasant, easy one.” 

“I think I should like to go by some 
shorter road,” said Allie wistfully. “ It’s 
awful hard to have to try to be good so long, 
I thin^.” 

“It* is, indeed, darling,” said mamma. 
“ But we have the Saviour to help us meet all 


204 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


the hard things of the way ; and, after all, 
every pilgrim must meet one enemy, whether 
he goes to the Celestial City early or late, in 
his pilgrimage.” 

‘ What enemy ? ” said Harry quickly. 

“Can’t you tell, either of you? What 
great enemy was the last one that our darling 
baby met?” 

“ I’v^ thought of one, but I don’t believe 
I’ve guessed right, mamma,” said Allie. 
“ Was it Death ? ” 

“Yes; but Christ helped him, that feeble 
little baby, to conquer that mighty enemy.” 

“ I should think Death conquered him,” 
said Harry, who seemed quite puzzled. 

“ Did all of Clemmie die ? ” asked his 
mother. 

“ All but his soul,” 

“ Oh, yes ! but his soul was all that kept 
his body alive. It was all of him that 
thought and loved : was it not ? So do 3'ou 


PICTUEES m THE FIEE. 


205 


think Death conquered Clemmie, when all 
Clemmie’s real self is alive now ? ” 

“No, ma’am,” said Harry, quite content 
and satisfied at this explanation. 

“Well,” said mamma, “we shall put out 
all our eyes, if we sit looking at these coals 
much longer. Now, trot to bed, little folks, 
and tell me to-morrow what sort of a song 
this wild wind sang you after you went to 
bed.” 




CHAPTER XIX. 

STEIFE. 

DON’T care now: I think you are 
real mean, Harry Willis. I want 
that book just as much as you do,” 
exclaimed Alice, looking ruefully at 
“ Our Young Folks,” which Harry, when he 
saw her intent, had sprung to catch before 
she could reach it. 

“ Well, it’s my book,” he retorted ; “ and 
you can’t have it.” 

“ That’s the way you are always doing,” 
said Alice ; “ and I don’t like you one bit. 
Now, you may just put down my ‘ architect- 
ual blocks.’ You sha’n’t have them.” 



206 


STRIFE. 


207 


“I’ll ask mamma if I can’t,” said the boy 
angrily. 

“ Give me the book, then,” urged Ahce. 

“ Me book ; me too ! ” vociferated little 
May, who had caught the spirit of strife. 
“Sitty, give me book. I’ll tell mamma, 
Hawwy. ISTotty, notty boy ! ” 

Altogether, there was by this time a most 
notable uproar. The goddess of discord, 
might, at this moment, have set up an undis- 
puted throne in Mrs. Willis’s sitting-room. 
At last, the mother came to the rescue. 

“Why, children,” she said, “what is the 
meaning of this fearful noise ? I heard the 
sounds clear up in the attic where I was put- 
ting away some clothes.” 

“Well, mamma,” said Alice, “Harry 
won’t let me look at his ‘ Young Folks,’ and 
he never is willing I should play with any of 
his playthings ; and I think he is a real mean 
boy.” 


208 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“Well,” said Harry, “she’s always taking 
my tilings the whole time, and I don’t want 
her and May using my engine and saw and 
everything. Girls don’t play with such 
things, They’re made for boys.” 

“ Hawwy, weal mean boy ! ” echoed May, 
who felt her responsibility in maintaining her 
side of the question. 

“Well,” said mamma, “now stop talking 
right here, every one of you ; and don’t say 
a single word until I speak to you. I am 
ashamed, dreadfully ashamed, that my little 
children are quarrelling. Harry, were you 
using your book, when Allie wanted it ? ” 

“ No, ma’am,” said Harry hesitatingly. 

“What a miserably selfish boy!” said 
mamma. “Were you playing with your 
blocks, Allie?” 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“ Then, why weren’t you willing to lend 
them to your brother ? ” 


STRIFE. 


209 


“Because he said I shouldn’t have his 
book.” 

“O Allie! I am ashamed of you. And 
here are my two great children teaching May 
such disgraceful lessons ! What shall I do ? 
You may all sit down here, and not speak to 
each other at all, for half an hour.” 

Mrs. Willis sat down with the children, 
looldng utterly disheartened and sad. Where 
is there a mother who cannot look back to 
numberless like seasons of discouragement, 
when the diligent precepts of days, months, 
and years seem in one moment, to have 
been utterly outgrown by one vast, sudden 
outflowering of contention and naughtiness. 

Such “ Valleys of Humiliation,” lie across 
the way of every mother, — of every patient 
worker for good everywhere. 

“Can’t I speak, mamma?” said Harry, 
when five tedious minutes had passed. “ I’m 
awful tired of keeping still.” 


14 


210 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“No, indeed,’’ said mamma : “ such a furi- 
ous tongue as yours was, a few minutes ago, 
needs rest sadly.” 

“Well, can I have something to play 
with ? ” pleaded Alice. 

“No, my dear : you must teach your selfish 
fingers to lie still, for a while, without enter- 
tainment,” was the answer. “ It will do them 
good, I hope.” 

Certainly, there was a most comforting 
hush after the storm of the morning. And 
when the half-hour had gone, the children 
had learned, for the present, to appreciate, 
each the society of the other : so there was 
no more strife for that day. 

“Mamma,” said Alice, in the afternoon, 
“you said yesterday, that you thought you 
would read us a fairy story to-day.” 

“ If — what ? ” said mamma. 

“ Oh, I know ! ” answered the little girl 
blushing: “if we were good children. I 
dorgot that.” 


STKIFE. 


211 


“Well, what about that ‘if’?” said 
mamma. 

“ I suppose we can’t have it, then,” said 
AUie, sighing. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Willis, smiling, and re- 
lenting, “I will read you one story for a 
medicine.” 

Both the children laughed. “Well, I 
don’t see how you can do that,” said Harry. 

“I’ll see if you don’t understand, when I 
have finished,” said their mother. “If you 
don’t. I’ll explain ; but I think you’ll know 
very well.” 

“ Please, mamma, do hurry,” said Harry ; 
who was insatiate in the mattei!* of stories, as 
was his sister. 

So Mrs. Willis went up stairs, and returned 
with the “Fairy-Book,” the contents of 
which were kept in reserve for special occa- 
sions. Generally, the reading of a story v/as 
as “a reward of merit.” Now, as mamma 
had said, it was for “ medicine.” 


212 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


Sitting down, she began, “ ‘ Once upon a 
time,’ ” — 

“ Oh, that’s splendid ! ” interposed Alice. 
“ The stories that begin ‘ once upon a time,’ 
are always nice.” 

Mamma continued, “ ‘ there lived a poor 
peasant and his wife, up among the high 
mountains of Switzerland. Their names 
were Louis and Annette. Louis was a 
carver of wood, and earned a scanty living at 
his trade. While the blocking snows of the 
long mountain winters lay against the cottage, 
he carved his dainty little wares ; and when 
the summer came, he carried them down into 
the lowland- villages to sell, or disposed of 
them to the few travellers who sometimes 
passed his bit of a home. 

“ ‘ These poor but honest folk had one 
child, a baby girl, whom they called Adele. 
When she was but a few weeks old, one 
evening, just at twilight, a bright light shone 


STEIFE. 


213 


in the cottage ; and a little old lady with a 
big bonnet stood in the doorway. 

“ ‘ Come in, said the little Mother Annette. 
Come in and rest, good woman. 

“ ‘ Thanks, friend, answered the stranger. 
These mountain-paths are hard to travel. 
So she sat down by the peat-fire that glowed 
upon the hearth; for though it was only 
harvest-time, the weather among the moun- 
tains was cold and sharp, with a breath of 
the coming winter. 

‘‘ ‘ Take this milk, said Annette. It was 
fresh from the goat this morning ; and be 
welcome to some of our oaten-cake. Eat, 
and be refreshed. 

‘“A beautiful smile played upon the 
wrinkled face under the big, queer bonn-et. 
She glanced toward the wooden cradle where 
lay the sleeping baby. It is yours ? she said, 
looking toward the young mother. 

“ ‘ Yes, she is mine, said Annette proudly. 


214 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


Isn’t she a winsome thing ? You should see 
her bright eyes, blue, like her father’s ; and 
her fat, fair feet, that have a pink flush, like 
the shells that they bring from the far-off 
sea. 

“ ‘ She is a baby for blessing, said the old 
woman ; and she will bring you happy for- 
tune. Here is a charm for her. Hang it 
about her neck ; and remember that I never 
forget a kind word or a kind act. So saying, 
she rose, took her staff in her wrinkled hand, 
and, leaving her blessing, went her way. 

“ ‘ Annette marvelled, and said to herself. 
Mayhap the good woman is a fairy. Surely 
a kindly deed, if it be but small, brings its 
reward. So saying, she raised the charm 
which had been given her baby, and exam- 
ined it. It was a quaint little silver locket, 
containing the picture of an exquisitely- 
painted heart’s-ease. Annette tied the pen- 
dant around the baby’s neck, by a blue 


STEIFE. 


215 


ribbon; and when her husband Louis re- 
turned soon after, sh^ told him the adventure 
of the day. 

‘‘ ‘ The months sped by ; and the little 
Ad^le grew strong and beautiful. She al- 
ways wore the old woman’s charm. Almost 
as soon as she could smile, she manifested 
her sweet, contented temper; and, as she 
grew up, this was her most prominent trait. 
Come sun or cloud, cold or heat, plenty or 
poverty, hard work or leisure, Aji^le was 
always happy. She seemed a perpetual sun- 
shine in the little cottage; and s^e sang 
blithely, as she trotted around, helping her 
mother in many ways. 

“ ‘ Just over the mountain, lived Mother 
Annette’s sister. Dame Hortense, who was a 
widow. She was mother of quite a number 
of boys, and of one daughter, who was about 
the age of little Ad^le. 

“ ‘ Sometimes, when the days were long, 


216 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


while the boys had gone out to sell their 
manufactures (for they,, too, were carvers). 
Dame Hortense would take little Estelle by 
the hand, and lead her over the hill-top to 
visit her cousin. 

“ ‘ Now Estelle was a quick, passionate 
child ; and the gentle little Ad^le was sorely 
beset in spirit when these visits occurred. 
On one occasion, for some unjust cause, 
Estelle struck the sweet maiden across the 
cheek, and said roughly, I hate you, Ad^le ; 
and I will wish the bad fairies to prick you. 

“ ‘ Then, suddenly, a bright light fell upon 
the chiTdren, and a queer little old woman 
stood before them. She seemed very, very 
angry, and she frowned upon Estelle, and 
said. Do you never speak thus again, you 
wicked girl. You shall not find any more 
roses upon your fine tree, from this tiihe. 
This is to punish you for your wicked words 
to your gentle cousin. Do not fear, she 


STEIFE. 


217 


added, turning to Ad^le, You are my sweet 
fairy god-daughter ; and all who know you, 
love you. So she threw a kiss to Ad^le, and 
turned to go ; hut before she left the door, 
she hfted her finger threateningly, and shook 
it toward Estelle, saying. Take care of your 
wicked temper, child, or your heart will be 
as full of briers as your rose-tree. 

“ ‘Estelle looked very pale after the fairy 
had gone ; but her black eyes were large and 
shining with anger, and she looked straight 
at Ad^le, saying, I wish to go home to my 
brother’s. You will not give me your dove, 
which I wish very much. 

“ ‘ It is my only pet, said poor Ad^le ; and 
I love it very much, or I would give it to 
you, Estelle. But you have two birds 
already. Then why do you so much wish 
another ? 

“ ‘ My doves are not white, and I think 
yours is the prettier, said the selfish little 


218 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


girl. But I shall not visit you again, for you 
are not good to me. 

“‘So Estelle departed. That evening, 
when Ad^le went to feed her dove with a 
part of her own bread and milk, she found 
the cage-door standing wide open, and the 
bird gone ! 

“ ‘ O my dove ! my dear little bird ! said 
Addle in dismay. As she spoke, a fringe of 
the gay shawl which Estelle had that day 
worn, met her eye, where it had caught 
upon a. wire of the cage. Then she knew 
that her cruel cousin had rifled the cage of 
her treasure. Weeping, she went to her 
mother ; but, after recounting her grief, she 
added, I am sorry Estelle is so wretched and 
discontented. It is easier to forgive her, 
than it would be to carry such an unhappy 
heart as she must have to-night. 

“ ‘ So sweetly did Adele meet the reverses of 
■ life ! She had so much of heart’s-ease in her 


STEIFE. 


219 


soul, that the pictured flower in the charm 
about her neck, became but the type of the 
peace of her spirit ; and no child who met 
her, could ever disagree with her; for all 
contention dies^ where it meets with no oppo- 
sition. 

“‘To return to EsteUe. All along the 
mountain-path on her way home, did her 
naughty heart rejoice in the possession of the 
white dove. It is a dainty bird, she said to 
herself, as she hovered it under her shawl. 
Will not Pierre and Jean praise its fair white 
neck ? See, boys, she said, when she had 
gained home. Here is my fine gift from our 
Cousin Addle ! (and a guilty throb of her 
heart half choked her, for her theft and her 
lie). So she turned back her shawl, when, 
lo ! out hopped a saucy, wicked, great mag- 
pie, who caught viciously at her finger, and 
nipped it with a will. 

“ ‘ Thief ! liar ! bad girl ! screamed the 


magpie. 


220 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ ‘ Ah, the wicked old fairy ! cried Estelle. 
She has put the magpie in place of the 
dove ! 

“ ‘ So is it that the fair and attractive pos- 
sessions of the good, grow harsh and ugly, 
w^hen the evil have gained them by unlawful 
means. 

“ ‘ When the next summer came round, 
and the rose-tree which adorned Estelle’s 
humble home again threw out its leaves, in 
vain did the little girl watch for the beauti- 
ful buds which usually crowned it. No 
flowers ever again bloomed upon its long 
sprays, but thorns grew rank and thick upon 
it ; and thus were the fairy’s words verifled. 

“ ‘ Year after year rolled away ; and great 
changes fell upon the mountain home of 
Adele. Her father and mother grew old and 
feeble ; and, at last, npbody was left by the 
peat-fire but Addle herself. Sickness had 
fallen upon Louis and Annette, and their 


STEIFE. 


221 


dust lay quietly sleeping in the village bury- 
ing-place. Ad^le mourned them dutifully, 
and her gentle eyes were very often full of 
tears ; but her sweet ]3atience and peace still 
kept her company, and her trust in God was 
beautiful to see. 

“ ‘ She was now eighteen, and very fair to 
look upon. Still she drank her draught of 
goat’s milk, morning and evening; and she 
knitted and sewed for the simple folk about 
her ; thus earning enough for her own inex- 
pensive wants. 

“ ‘ One morning, there was a tap at her 
door. Whon Ad^le opened it, there stood a 
young man, who looked very brave and 
manly; and he said. Is your name Adele? 
And she answered, — 

“ ‘ Yes. 

‘‘ ‘ Then he said, I have come from my 
home far beyond the mountains, where I live 
in a noble castle. One day there was a loud 


222 


ABOVE AJ^B BELOW. 


knocking at my gate, and an aged woman 
there stood, who wished to speak with me. 
Then she spake thus to me, — 

“ ‘ I know of you, young prince, for your 
subjects all love you, and bless you, for your 
good deeds and* gifts to them. Now, I am 
come to direct you to your reward. 

“ ‘ Then I answered. Pray, good dame, 
enter, to rest and eat. I would hear your 
message. Which, when she had done, she 
spake farther, in this wise, — 

“ ‘ Far up among the mountains, in a little 
cottage, dwells a sweet maiden, who carries 
heart’s-ease in her bosom ; and who will give 
it to you, also, young prince. And the sun 
shines not on a fairer face or a purer heart. 

“ ‘ Moreover, she added, — 

“ ‘ Will you go to win her ? 

“ ‘ And I said, I will. Then she gave me 
my landmarks ; and she said, — 

“ ‘ She, to whom I send you, will show you 


STRIFE. 


223 


her talisman, even a heart’s-ease. Go and 
win. 

“ ‘ So now am I come. 

“ ‘ Then Adele’s face grew as pink as the 
may -flower ; and she drew her charm from 
her neck, and laid it in the, hand of the 
stranger. 

“ ‘ Now, said he, I know that you are she 
of whom the fairy spoke. Will you go with 
me to my castle, and be my wife ? 

“ ‘ Then Addle’s face grew yet redder, till 
even her fair neck was ruddy ; but she looked 
upon his face, and she answered, I will go ; 
for she loved him. 

“ ‘ So she left the little cottage to a poor 
neighbor. And she went forth with the 
young prince ; and she lived long and hap- 
pily, for she still oarried heart’s-ease in her 
bosom. And she was a blessing to all who 
knew her.’ ” ♦ 

Alice drew a long breath of satisfaction, * 


224 ABOVE AND BELOW. 

and yet of regret. ‘‘It’s a splendid story; 
but I’m awful sorry it ain’t true, and there 
ain’t any really fairies.” 

“So am I,” said Harry. “I think it 
would be jolly to have folks to give you 
things, and help you do hard jobs.” 

“ I suppose it would,” said mamma ; “but, 
after all, there isn’t any need of fairy folk, 
when we have an almighty Friend to help us, 
when we ask him. Do you think there is ? ” 

“ No’m” said Alice thoughtfully. 

“ Now, do you know what I meant, by 
reading you this story for medicine?” said 
mamma, laughing. 

“ Yes, I do,” said Harry. 

“ Of course, mamma,” added Alice. “ It 
means that we ought not to quarrel. I know, 
almost, that’s what you read it for.” 

“Well,” said mamma, “I hope the medi- 
cine will curb you so the trouble never will 
come back again.” 



CHAPTER XX. 

TRUTH. 

UNTIE WILSON writes that she 
will visit us to-morrow,” said Mrs. 
Willis, reading a letter just handed 
her at the breakfast-table. 

“ Isn’t that good? ” exclaimed Harry, joy- 
fully. “ Is she going to bring Fred and Art 
with her, mamma ? ” 

“ No, dear : Helen and Susie are to be the 
favored ones this time.” 

Allie, of course, was delighted at this 
news ; but Harry’s countenance rather fell. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” sighed he, “ How I do wish 
that I ever could have a boy to play with ! 



15 


225 


226 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


If I just could, mamma ! ” Mamma, thus 
petitioned, felt a sympathy for the poor peti- 
tioner. * It was a bit hard for the lad, to he 
sure. The instinct in him for boyish society 
and plays was a natural and right one. So 
she said, — 

“Well, Harry, to-morrow morning you 
may go down to Mrs. Baxter’s, and ask her 
if she will allow Billy to come up and spend 
the day with you. How would you like 
that?” 

“ Thank you, thank you ! I think you are 
the very splendidest mamma that ever was, 
in all the world,” shouted Harry, enthusias- 
tically. Then a bright suggestion of yet 
nearer privilege flashing through his head, he 
added, “Why can’t I go for him to-day, 
mamma ? ” 

“ Because I must go into town to-day ; and 
I would rather be at home when you have, 
company.” 


TRUTH. 


22T 


The next morning dawned bright and soft. 
About five minutes after prayers, Harry’s 
stalwart young legs might have been seen 
striking out in tangents down the broad front- 
walk, bound for Mrs. Baxter’s ; and in about 
fifteen minutes after, two radiant-faced boys 
walked in at the side-door. 

The Spring was without. May was in the 
land. The woods sent out their piny odors ; 
and the persuasive winds blew their soft 
whispers of the Summer so near at hand. 
Under the brown, withered leaves of the last 
year, softly covered by their dun blankets, 
one need but peep to find such dainty store 
of sweets and beauty, that it seemed like 
fairy work. Trailing arbutus pushed up its 
rough green leaves, telling tales of its hiding- 
place. White stars of bloodroot, “like good 
deeds in a naughty world,” sprang from the 
dark, dank mould ; and the whole army of 
violets, blue, yellow, and white, came out by 


228 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


regiments, in unfaltering defiance of rain and 
cliill yet lurking in ambush through the air. 

It seemed to-day, as if the children could 
not enough express the exuberance of life 
and joy that was within them. An hour or 
two they spent out of doors, digging in the 
ground, helping and hindering the man who 
was working in the garden. Then they had 
a grand hurrah, tumble, and jump, on the 
great mows of hay in the stable. After 
which, they fed the horse, pigs, hens and 
chickens ; and having done this, the two boys 
made their appearance at the sitting-room 
door. 

“ Mamma,” said Harry, “ may we go up, 
and play in the attic ? ” 

“Yes, if you will leave things there in 
as good order as you find them,” answered 
mamma. 

“ Oh, yes ! we will,” said Harry. 

“ Can’t I go with the boys ? ” interposed 
Alice. 


TKUTH. 


229 


“Wait a minute, dear,’’ was tlie answer. 
“ Run along, boys, and have a good time ; but 
remember to do right.” 

“ Oh, yes ! we will,” said Harry confi- 
dently. 

“ Now, mamma, can’t I go too,” continued 
Alice, as the door closed behind the foiu 
noisy feet. 

“ Suppose we let the two boys have their 
play all to themselves,” said her mother. “ It 
isn’t very often that Hallie has a little boy 
to play with; and Billy and he will want 
to play rougher games than you are accus- 
tomed to try. So we will let them have their 
games as they please.” 

“Well, I like to go up into the attic just 
as much as they do,” said Allie, looldng very 
rueful. 

“I know it,” said mamma; “but it is 
almost time for Auntie Wilson and your 
cousins to come. The train is nearly due ; 


230 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


and after they have reached the house, you 
and May and Helen and Susie can have out 
your china tea-set, and play with your big 
dollies.” 

“ That’s good ! ” said the child. 

“ And it will be just as nice as going up to 
play in the attic, won’t it ? ” 

“ Yes’m, better,” responded Allie. 

An hour later, saw the four cousins seated 
around the pretty dishes, taking “ solid com- 
fort ” with the family of dollies, who all some- 
how needed a great deal of discipline and 
exhortation, before they attained a satisfac- 
tory style of behavior. Indeed, their educa- 
tion seemed to require the same earnest repe- 
tition of instruction which the great company 
of actual mammas are obliged to bestow upon 
the living boys and girls of their charge. 

IMeantime, the most astounding noises were 
heard in the attic; and mamma, wishing 
somebody to send on an errand, went up to 


TRUTH. 


231 


find Harry. The scene revealed by the open- 
ing of the door beggared description. Billy 
Baxter and Harry had ranged in line all the 
boxes, trunks, and disabled chairs stored in 
this luggage-room ; which motley array was 
supposed to represent an express-train of 
cars, in full motion. In one corner, a feeble 
towel-frame stood inverted, to act as veloci- 
pede ; while an old bedstead had been 
propped against the wall, and roofed by the 
slats of the same. This imposing fabric rep- 
resented a store, their articles of merchandise 
being supplied the young merchants by 
numerous old coats and venerable pants, here 
deposited. 

“Well!” said Mrs. Willis, looking rather 
dismayed, and drawing a long breath, “ Have 
you succeeded in having a good time, boys ? ” 

“Oh, yes’m, jolly! ’’said Billy Baxter 
heartily. 

“ I wish Billy lived here all the time,” said 
Harry. 


232 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ I think this will do for to-day,” said 
mamma. “ Besides, I want you boys to do 
an errand for me. Then you may oome back, 
and clear up.” 

“All right,” answered Harry, who liked 
to do errands out of doors ; and whose pleas- 
ure, in the present instance, was augmented 
by the deferring, if for ever so short a season, 
of the dreaded “ clearing up.” 

“You may go down to Mr. Pikers, and buy 
me a dozen cream-cakes,” continued Mrs. 
Willis. “ I haven’t quite enough plain cake 
for tea; and you children will like cream- 
cakes very much, I suspect.” 

“ Oh, yes ! cream-cakes are tip-top,” said 
Harry. “ Hurry up, Billy ! ” 

Mr. Pike’s bake-shop was reached in a 
twinlding; the cream-cakes paid for, and 
done up in a paper bag ; and the two boys 
started upon their return to the house. 

“ How many cakes are there? ” said Billy, 
soon after they had left the shop. 


TEUTH. 


233 


“ Twelve,” answered Harry. “ They cost 
four cents apiece.” 

‘‘ Just let’s see how they look,” suggested 
Billy. 

“Well,” said Harry, as he untwisted the 
end of the paper bag, and wistfully surveyed 
its contents, while Billy’s two hungry eyes 
eagerly devoured the tempting crispiness of 
the cakes. 

“ Cream-cakes are first-rate,” continued 
Billy. 

“ Splendid ! ” was the reply. 

“ And there’s a lot of ’em,” pursued Billy. 
“ How do you s’pose they taste ? ” 

“ I know just how they taste,” said Harry ; 
“ for I’ve eaten ’em a hundred times.” 

“Perhaps these don’t taste like those you 
have had,” said his guest. “ They look 
better’n those I’ve had.” 

Harry began to look a little guilty. The 
truth was, he knew perfectly well exactly 


234 


ABOVE A^D BELOW. 


what Billy was “ driving at ” ; and although 
he felt that what he was suggesting was 
wrong, yet he sadly wanted to know himself 
how those cream-cakes tasted. 

“ Wouldn’t it be nice, just to taste a teeny, 
tonty bit, off that little cake?” continued 
Billy persuasively. “ Only just a very little 
bit, you know.” 

“But mamma didn’t sa3r we might,” an- 
swered Harry, making one faint stand for 
right. 

“Well, she didn’t say we musnH, either,” 
urged Billy ; “ and I know she wouldn’t care. 
My mother wouldn’t, I know.” 

Harry knew he was yielding to tempta- 
tion ; but when boys or girls, or grown-up 
men or women, have listened thus long to the 
.suggestions of sin, it is not so easy- to turn 
away from them. 

“ Perhaps she wouldn’t,”'he said hurriedly. 
“You bite first, Billy;” which same, Billy 
was not slow to do. 


TRUTH. 


235 


‘‘Now he has eaten a piece, ’j argued 
Harry to himself ; “ and, of course, mamma 
had just as soon I would have some too.” 
So when he “ saw that it was good for food,” 
he “ tasted,” as did our first mother. 

“ Isn’t it prime ? ” ejaculated Billy, smack- 
ing his lips, “ As long’s we’ve bitten it, we 
might as well eat it up ; for your mother 
wouldn’t want to put a piece of a cake on 
the table, would she ? ” 

“No: of course she wouldn’t,” answered 
Harry, who had now grown quite bold in 
wrong-doing. 

So the tempting cake was soon eaten ; and 
the boys went on. When supper-time came, 
and the cake was passed, Mrs. Willis said, — 
“ I am sorry, children : I intended you to 
fare equally in cakes, and so sent for a dozen-^ 
that you might have two each. But I see 
the baker made a mistake in counting: so 
one of you must content himself with but 
one.” 


236 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


By acQident, as she spoke, she glanced at 
the two hoys, who sat side by side, and 
couldn’t help being struck by the change in 
expression which passed over the two young 
faces, and the flush that covered their cheeks. 
It had not occurred, to her, that there was any 
other way in which to account for the de- 
ficiency in number ; for dishonesty in her 
children was not an ordinary fault. So she 
said, involuntarily, — 

‘‘ Did you bring home all the cakes, 
Harry?” 

Harry’s face grew redder than ever. He 
glanced at Billy, who was looking earnestly 
at him with a face as flushed as his own. 
Harry paused a moment, and then answered 
slowly, “ Yes ma’am.” 

A pang shot through his mother’s heart ; 
but she said nothing more, thinking it better 
to talk with her boy alone than to tempt him 
to further falsehood by questioning him in the 
presence of others. 


TRUTH. 


23T 


Billy Baxter went home soon after tea. 
Harry walked about restlessly, carrying a 
troubled face with him ; but his mother said 
nothing until his bed-time came, the season 
when she thought her little son’s conscience 
would most urgently press him to confess his 
wrong-doing. 

After he had said his prayers, as usual, and 
been softly covered in his white bed by his 
mother’s own gentle hands, she said kindly, — 
“ Harry, what about that cream-cake ? ” 
Harry, who had been SAvallowing uncom- 
fortably for several minutes, now began to 
cry. 

“You told me a falsehood at supper : did 
you not, my son ? ” 

No answer, but harder sobs. 

“ Why did you say what yau did ? ” 

“ Because — Billy and — I ate — the — 
cake, and I — didn’t — want you — and the 
rest — of — the folks to — know it.” 


238 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ O Harry ! and you told a lie to prevent 
this, and didn’t deceive us either! Didn’t 
you know I would rather have you tell me 
the truth, even if you had taken a hundred 
cream-cakes ? ” 

“Well, mamma, Billy asked first, if we 
couldn’t taste — and then we did — and then 
it was — so good — we ate — the rest — and 
and — I’m sorry, mamma.” 

“ Just think how Satan cheated you,” said 
mamma. “ That’s the way he always does. 
How much he has made you pay for that 
part of a cream-cake ! And Billy has had to 
pay rather more, I think, than you, because 
he urged you to sin, as well as sinned him- 
self.” 

“ What has he had to pay, mamma ? ” said 
Allie, from her bed on the other side of the 
room. 

“ To-morrow, I will write down what 
Harry has paid,” said mamma ; “ and then 


TRUTH. 


239 


you will see how Satan always has the best 
of his bargains.” 

“ I heard Bridget say the dther day,” con- 
tinued Alice, “ that ’twa’n’t any harm to tell 
a wrong story, if it didn’t do anybody any 
harm.” 

“ That isn’t what the Bible says,” an- 
swered Mrs. Willis. “ You know the com- 
mandment, ‘ Thou shalt not bear false wit- 
ness against thy neighbor ’ ; which forbids 
saying anything that is untrue. Besides, 
every lie hurts our own souls, if we speak 
one, more than it can injure anybody else. 
If we are not truthful, how can anyone trust 
us at all ? When you were very small chil- 
dren, a boy lived with us, who took care 
of the horse and garden, as John now does. 
His name was Sam Hall. He was a pleas- 
ant-tempered, kind-hearted boy, and did his 
work well ; but he was very untruthful. We 
never could feel sure, when he said anything, 


240 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


that it was true. We talked to Sam, and 
tried to make him feel liow wicked the habit 
was; but he ^didn’t seem to feel what we 
said at all. He had told lies so long, that it 
was as natural for him to speak falsely as to 
breathe ; and he lied about matters, when it 
would have been just exactly as easy to tell 
the truth. For instance, if your father asked 
him whether he gave the hens corn or oats, 
in the morning, he would be almost sure to 
answer, ‘oats,’ when he had given them 
corn ; and ‘ corn,’ when he had given them 
oats. So, at last, your papa said he couldn’t 
possibly keep such a boy in the family ; for 
very soon, Harry and Allie would begin to 
learn the wicked habit of him. So we sent 
him away.” 

“ Why, mamma, how awful he was ! ” said 
Alice. 

“ Yes : it was dreadful. But that is just 
the pass that sin always brings us to, if we 


TRUTH. 


241 


follow its leadings. I presume that Sam 
Hall began his dreadful habit by occasional 
lies to cover some other sin.” 

“ Billy Baxter says it isn’t a truly lie, when 
you say part of a thing out loud, and the 
rest of it to yourself,” said Harry. 

“ What do you mean ? ” said Alice. 

“ Why, he said to-day, that his father said 
he might have a ‘ big, tall beaver hat ’ ; and 
I said, ‘ Why, Billy Baxter, I don’t believe 
it.’ And then he laughed, and said, ‘Well, 
he said I might, when I am a man.’ I told 
him I thought he had told a lie ; but he said 
he hadn’t. And then he said he had a bear 
in his father’s barn, truly ; and a long time 
afterwards he said he was only in fun, when 
I told him I was going to ask papa, if he had, 
honest.’ 

“ Oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Willis. “I am 
distressed for Billy Baxter : I am afraid he 
has gone a long way on the road of deceit. 


16 


242 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


You were perfectly right, Harry, in thinking 
that these stories he told were lies ; because 
he kept back so much of the truth in his 
statements, that you received a false idea of 
the fact, which amounted to a lie. And 
he did not mean, when he told you these 
stories, that you should ever know all the 
truth.” 

“No: I know he didn’t,” said Harry; 
“ for he didn’t tell till he was afraid I should 
ask papa about it.” ^ 

“ Mamma,” interposed Allie, “ fairy stories 
are not true ; but you sometimes read them 
to us.” 

“ Or allegories and parables,” added 
Harry. 

“ No : they certainly are not true,” said 
mamma. “Can either of you think of any 
reason why I am not doing wrong, in reading 
them to you? ” 

Alice thought very hard, and at last said, 


TRUTH. 


243 


“Why, you don’t tell us they are true 
stories.” 

“ And we know all the time they ain’t,” 
added Harry. 

“ Yes : there is the difference,” said 
mamma. “I tell you, to begin with, that 
fairy stories, for instance, are not true, and 
that I read them to you so that you may see 
if you can’t learn a nice lesson from them. 
Any fairy story, or allegory, or parable, 
that is of any value, will teach something 
good. Now, there is a vast difference be- 
tween such stories, and falsehoods : is there 
not?” 

“Yes, indeed,” answered Allie. 

The next morning, Harry said, “ Mamma, 
you promised to write down how much the 
lie cost me yesterday.” 

“ So I will,” said mamma. Sitting down, 
with pencil and paper, in a few moments she 
read to the children as follows : — 


244 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


HARRY WESTON WILLIS. 


PROFIT. 

Five Minutes’ Pleasure. 
Disobedience. 

Theft. 

Guilt. 

Falsehood. 

Mortification. 

Tears. 

God’s Displeasure. 


LOSS. 

Obedience. 

Honesty. 

Innocence. 

Truth. 

Honor. 

Peace. 

God’s Favor. 


“Now, how does that score look?” said 
mamma. “Who gained most, you or the 
tempter? ” 

“ I know,” said Harry gravely. 

“ I trust my dear boy will never again, in 
all his life, meet with such dreadful loss,” 
added Jiis mother. “ The most dreadful loss 
of all which habitual liars must meet, will be 
heaven ; for God says in his word, that no 
liar can enter into the New Jerusalem. O 
Harry, remember that ! ” 



CHAPTER XXI. 

GOOD-BY. 

GAIN had come the year’s rose- 
time. The air was sweet with per- 
fume ; and the trees hung out their 
fresh, tender greenery with lavish 

hand. 

Supper was over; and the family was 
gathered on the piazza for a breath of the 
fragrant June air. 

In the west, the sun was sinking in glory 
of crimson and gold; and the sweet blue 
eyes of AUie were regarding the far-off 
splendor with a wistful gaze. 

“ O mamma,” she said at last, “ how splen- 



245 


246 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


did that sunset is ! It seems as if we might 
walk right up to the clouds. I wish we 
could. How far off do you suppose they 
are ? ” 

‘•See, mamma ! ” broke in little May, as 
the wondrous though common spectacle 
attracted her notice. “ See clouds, clouds ! ” 
“It looks like heaven, mamma,’’ said 
Harry softly. “ I don’t believe heaven is any 
handsomer than that. Is it, papa ? ” 

“ ‘ And the city had no need of the sun, 
neither of the moon, to shine in it,”’ thought 
Mr. Willis ; but he would not dim the little 
lad’s vision of the New Jerusalem, and re- 
plied, “ It doesn’t seem as if anything could 
be much more magnificent than the sunset, 
to be sure, my son. But I suppose heaven 
is more beautiful than anything we have ever 
seen in this world, even than such a splendid 
sky as that.” 

“ Children,” said their mother softly, 


GOOD-BY. 


24T 


“have you thought that a year ago to-day, 
‘Clemmie went to heavea? ” 

, “ Why, mamma, is it a whole year ago ? ” 
answered Allie. “ I didn’t think it was so 
long.” 

“ I guess it is, though,” said Harry ; “for 
don’t you know, Allie, how we had the 
house full of roses the day of the funeral ? 
and how there was a vase of white roses, 
just like these, in the front chamber?” 

“So there was,” said Allie. “ Why didn’t 
you tell us before, mamma ? ” 

“ Because I have had so many things about 
the house to see to, that I had no time for a 
quiet talk about it ; but I have been thinking 
a great deal about the dear little thing, — a 
great deal.” 

“I wonder if he’s grown much,” said 
Harry. 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said mamma; “but 
I have been wondering whether we are 


248 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


any better for baying our dear baby in 
heaven.” 

“ We any better, mamma?” said Alice, 
with surprise in her voice. “ I don’t know 
why it would make us any better to have 
Clemmie go to heaven.” 

“ I think we ought to be,” said papa. 

“ Why ? ” asked Harry. 

“ Because,” said their father, “ God never 
sends any sorrow that he doesn’t mean shall 
be a blessing to us.” 

“I didn’t know that,” said Allie. 

“ I should think he would send the good 
thing right off, without the one that makes 
us feel so awful bad,” said Harry. 

“But suppose,” said mamma, “that you 
wouldn’t take the blessing until the sorrow 
came to bring it to you.” 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” said 
AUie. 

“Well, dear, I will try to explain. Let 


GOOD-BY. 


249 


me try to think of some lessons which I hope 
we have learned from Clemmie’s death. One 
of the first, was, I think, to remember that 
other people beside ourselves had lost friends. 
Don’t you remember how many little graves 
we saw in Mt. Auburn the day we carried 
the baby’s body to lay it away ? ” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Allie. 

“Well, you never thought before how 
many other babies beside ours had died : did 
you?” 

“No’m: I hadn’t.” 

“ And so, of course, you hadn’t thought 
how many people there were in sorrow, and 
hadn’t felt sorry for them ? ” 

“ No’m.” 

“And this perhaps you wouldn’t have 
thought of for a great while, if your dear 
brother had not died. Can you think of 
any other lesson that his death has taught 
us?” 


250 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“Why, we gave away Clemmie’s clothes 
to the poor woman’s baby,” said Harry. 

“Yes: we thought he would wish the 
poor baby to have some of his clothes, to 
keep him warm,” said mamma. “ Anything 
else?” 

“You said Clemmie was learning to work,” 
said Alice shyly, knowing her own sometime 
disinclination to sewing patchwork. 

“Yes: I can remember that a little boy 
and girl went to their ‘ stints ’ more cheer- 
fully, one warm day last summer, when they 
thought their baby brother was not idle in 
heaven. And AUie tried to be more patient, 
when she had her fever, after I reminded her 
of the patience of Clemmie in his hard sick- 
ness.” 

“ He was very patient, — dear, darling 
baby ! ” — said Alice, softly. 

“ I don’t think you ever thought before 
Clemment died, about the ‘resurrection of 


GOOD-BY. 


251 


the body’: did you, cHildren?” said Mr. 
Willis. 

“ Why, papa, I think we have learned a 
great* many things,” said Harry. “I didn’t 
know it, though, till now.” 

“We haven’t half numbered the lessons,” 
said mamma; “but it is growing late, and 
we ought to go in.” 

“ Just let us stop a minute, and see this 
splendid moonlight some more,” said Harry. 
“ It’s ’most as light as day.” 

The moon had “ stolen a march ” upon 
them, while they talked, and lay broad in her 
light upon the sleeping trees and flowers. 

“ Come, Allie, let’s walk up and down the 
long drive. Can’t we, mamma? ” 

“Just once,” she answered. “And take 
May with you.” 

“ Yes, me too,” said the little damsel ; and 
the three children, hand in hand, stepped 
from the shade of the piazza into the beauti- 
ful soft light. 


252 


ABOVE AND BELOW. 


“ Clemment could have toddled with 
them,” said Mrs. Willis to her husband, as 
they stood watching the three small figures, 
their light clothing shining white and fair in 
the glory of the radiance. 

“Yes, my dear.” he answered, as he kissed 
her upturned forehead; “but, ‘In heaven, 
their angels do always behold the face of my 
Father which is in heaven.’ And it is better 
to feel sure that he is there than to have him 
with us. Is it not ? May the Lord bring us 
all to as safe habitation as his ! ” 

“Yes,” she said hopefully, though her eyes 
shone with tears. We ‘shall be satisfied 
when we awake in His likeness.’ ” 



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